Gold Dust Woman
by gameofboners
Summary: "Darkness rises, and light to meet it." Michael/OC
1. Genesis

**THE LAST OF THE BAUBLES WERE BEING HUNG ON THE TREE, WHEN THE DOORBELL RANG.**

The night had long since fallen, and with that, a surprising electrical outage. The power had cut throughout the convent when the clock had struck had three, earlier that day, and had yet to come back. As darkness fell, the sisters were forced to light their candles and say prayers that God saw fit to return the electricity before morning broke. Or else, breakfast would be rather simple and without cooked food.

Sister Bridget and Sister Augustus were charged with decorating the convent with appropriate Christmas decor, after much begging from the two - who were younger than all else, a tree was allowed. Sister Carla was in charge of the convent, and did not like to bend to the commercialisation of Christmas. In her eyes, it was a celebration of Christ and nothing more.

When the doorbell had rang, the clock had just struck eight. It was rather unusual, and completely forbidden, for guests to be permitted so late. With that in mind, the two dropped the tinsel back into the box and shared a glance.

In the end, it was Sister Carla who headed to the door, prepared to give Hell to whoever dared to disrupt the sisters at such a late hour, knowing they slept at nine. But alas, when she opened the door, no one was there.

Frustrated, the elderly woman leaned forward with her flashlight and shone it around the dark front yard, prepared to meet the eyes of a mischievous teenager, but found nothing. Stepping back and prepared to close the door, a soft cry interrupted her actions.

Looking down this time, instead of around, Sister Carla saw the real reason the bell was rang, heartbreakingly so. Without delay, she reached down to pluck the newborn off of the step, tutting at the recklessness people held. The night was freezing, had the child been left longer she would surely have frozen to death.

"How could anyone do such a thing?" She complained as she shut the door, keeping the warmth inside and clutching the child in her arms.

"What is it, Sister?" One asked curiously, stepping forward to catch a peak, reeling at the sight of the baby.

"No doubt a precarious teenager who is too afraid of their parents to own up to their mistakes," she ranted, tightening the blankets around her. Without doubt, the baby was adorable. As beautiful as a baby could be at that age. Her skin held a glowing shine to it, as if she were kissed on the head by God himself.

Her skin was dark, with large brown eyes that stared peacefully off at nothing in particular.

The convent no longer held a children's wing after ethical issues arose about their punishments in the 1990s, but there were still beds and cots left over. The night was too late to figure out the girl's fate at this hour.

It wasn't long before she was settled into a crib, with prayers being said for her safety and wellness, and redemption for the souls of those who abandoned her.

As the sisters slept soundly in bed that night, so did the baby. Who hadn't cried since being discovered, they recognised. Truly an angelic child.

Across the town, it was quite a similar scenario for one Constance Langdon. Although her grandchild slept soundly, she didn't stray from the side of his crib once. He was only a few hours old, and the first few hours were most crucial. She wanted the babe to bond with her, to see her as a motherly figure. For he was her chance at redemption- the beautiful boy with the milky skin and golden hair.

* * *

It was decided the girl would be raised by the nuns, as her parents so obviously wanted her to be; with Sister Carla as her legal guardian. Just so, the baby was given Carla's surname - Cromwell, and Christened with the first name 'Molly'.

As the years passed, the nuns doted upon her often. Rarely did they punish her, for she rarely gave them reasons to. She was the epitome of a child kissed by God, with her ever-increasing beauty and kind heart.

The only taint on the child was her terrible nightmares. Late into the night, Molly would scream at the top of her lungs over the horrifying images she would see, too frightened to confide in the sisters over what she saw. Plaguing her mind were visions of suffering, starving children and innocents murdered.

At the ripe age of five, Molly didn't understand what it was she was seeing, nor the significance of it. It was only as she grew, did she realise that it was God speaking with her, showing her the horrible afflictions of the world. _Motivating_ her.

But as she developed, it wasn't just her looks and knowledge that grew. A power deep within, strong gifts that could only have been God-given started to manifest.

The second Sister Carla had saw it, she was quick to cast the girl out.

They had been attending a funeral mass at the time, when Molly was only six. They felt it was important the child should know from an early age the importance of death and life, and how easily it could be ripped away.

Therefore, before the mass could begin, the sisters and Molly were tasked with tidying and setting up the altar with flowers. Sister Augusta kept a watchful eye over the girl, so it was her who first noticed when she wandered off towards the coffin.

Usually, she would have rushed briskly over and led her by the hand away from the open casket, but the girl approached it in such a calm and dignified way, she was transfixed into watching the scene unfold.

Having knowledge they weren't aware of, innocent little Molly Cromwell reached her hand into the casket and gently grasped the corpse's hand.

The action was enough to snap Augusta out of her daze, placing the wreath of lilies down to head toward Molly. But the incident that would occur next would make her stop again, with a scream this time.

For the second Molly lifted her hand away, the man - who was very much dead moments before, shot up in the coffin with a gasp.

Her screams caught the attention of the rest of the nuns, who whipped around and erupted into shouts of horror. Protectively, Carla grabbed Molly's shoulders to drag her away.

"It was her! The girl brought him back!" Augusta announced, her hands covering her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. The scene may have been astounding, but it was also absolutely frightening.

"Get a hold of yourself, sister," Carla shook her head, hiding the now-quivering child behind her, who was frightened by their reactions. "She's just a child!"

"Molly reached her hand into the coffin and woke him up! She toyed with dark magic!" Augusta was practically hysterical, backing away further and further.

"It's true! I saw her beside the coffin just before!" Another nun added, leading Sister Carla to appear as if she swallowed a bug. The ageing woman whipped around and backed away from the sobbing girl, eyes fiery and full of concern for their well-being.

The sisters came closer together, scurrying as far from Molly as they could, not at all phased by her wailing. Anxiously, they murmured to each other.

"A witch! She has to be!"

"She is no child of God!"

"Sister Carla, she cannot stay!"

And stay, she did not.

* * *

Sister Bridget decided not to wear her habit on her trip, so as not to draw suspicion. Although she did cover Molly's curly hair with the hood of her coat, just in case.

"Where are we going, Sister?" Molly whimpered in fright from the passenger seat, her cheeks still damp from crying. She was positively confused about the entire situation, and what she had done wrong.

"We are going to someone who will take care of you," Bridget replied sweetly, full of pity. The girl wouldn't be staying with them, that was sure, but she worried for what would be done to her now if she stayed under Sister Carla's authority.

"I'm coming home?" She asked, voice raspy from wailing.

"No, sweetie," she admitted, reaching over with her free hand and squeezing her fingers softly.

They pulled up in front of the vast white mansion after a two hour drive, just as afternoon hit. Bridget unbuckled her belt and headed outside, rounding the car and opening the passenger door, gesturing for the child to follow her. She took her small hand in hers, leading her hurriedly to the front door.

Witchcraft was wholly banned from the Catholic church after Cordelia Goode unveiled the society. Many Catholics chose not to believe in it, but one thing was for sure - those who practiced witchcraft were believed to be Satan worshippers, in the eyes of Christians. Therefore, they were excommunicated.

Bridget didn't hold a hatred of them as much as her fellow sisters did, although she never had a reason to toggle with them. Until now.

A blonde haired man opened the door, an eyebrow cocked in surprise.

"Hello," he began, full of suspicion as his eyes trailed down to the small girl. "Can I help you?"

"We're here to see Cordelia Goode," Bridget replied.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"N-no, but it's urgent... _please_..." she begged, "I'm risking everything by coming here."

"Let them through, Kyle," a cool-toned voice sounded from behind him, forcing the man to step back and reveal a blonde woman on the stairs, waiting patiently. "I happen to be free right now."

They were immediately led into a dining room, Cordelia eying the two curiously the entire way until they all sat around the table, Bridget anxiously wringing her hands.

"We need your help, Ms Goode," she started, sighing as she nodded towards Molly, " _she_ needs your help."

"What can I do for _her_?" Delia smiled encouragingly at the child, waving gently in hopes of calming her. It worked, the girl sensing there was no danger here and allowing her lips to lift in a smile.

"I... I believe she's a witch," Bridget continued. "She was abandoned at our convent door step as a baby, and this morning... she brought a man back to life."

Delia's eyebrows raised in near amusement, leaning back in her chair.

"She is rather young to be demonstrating powers at all, never mind one as strong as necromancy. A witch's power manifests during puberty."

"Do you have a way of telling? Because if she isn't a witch, I don't want to think she is what the other nuns are calling her," she gushed, elaborating when Cordelia waited for an explanation, "...the _Antichrist_."

The blonde inhaled sharply, all of her psychic powers telling her that there was nothing inherently evil about the child who was tracing patterns in the wood with her index finger.

"What's her name?" Cordelia asked, standing up after composing herself and rounding the table to reach the girl.

"Molly."

"Molly," Delia called, gaining her attention. "Can I see your hand, pretty please?"

The girl immediately obeyed, holding her palm towards her. Cordelia placed her much larger hand over hers, eyes snapping shut as a vision flooded her mind.

Images of the girl's life flashed, but what was most overwhelming was the calming sense that rushed her body. Whoever this girl was, she was the purest spirit Cordelia had ever met. Her aura was warm, and simply divine-like.

She saw then the scene from the morning before, and sure enough, she had exercised her power of necromancy and resurrected a man who was dead for at least three days.

But as innocent as she was, power so great demanded to be investigated and controlled.

"I think you did a good thing by bringing her here," Cordelia dropped her hand, and turned to Bridget.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE**

 _ **Hello everyone!**_

 _ **I'm absolutely obsessed with Michael Langdon, and I felt it was about right I write a fic about him to give me a Langdon fix before the season ends and he leaves our screens.**_

 _ **This was just a prologue, he will be appearing shortly. And in case anyone wondered about their births, they are NOT related. Molly was born as the answer to the birth of the antichrist, so the more Michael grows in age and power - so will she.**_

 _ **I hope everyone enjoys the book!**_


	2. Leviticus

**"MOLLY, YOU HAVE TO ATTEND CLASSES,"** Cordelia sighed, having had the same exact debate with the girl countless times.

"But Delia," she sighed, flopping down into the chair in front of her office desk. "It's not _fair_ to the others!"

"Witchcraft isn't a competition," she refuted. "Classes are not to suss out who is the most powerful, they are to teach you to control your abilities and enhance them."

Molly's lips pouted in defeat once again, causing Delia's breath to hitch as she looked her once more. There were moments since her... _transition_ , where simply looking at her would freak the Supreme out.

There was no mortal, nor magical, explanation for her growth. One day, Molly had went to sleep an innocent seven year old, and had woken up the next day with the appearance of someone who had aged a decade over night.

She was so shocked she could have screamed when she first saw her, or passed out altogether, but Molly herself was so scared by her development, it was all she could think to do in comforting her.

In Molly's initial dazed state, Cordelia had asked her if she knew what contributed to her rapid development. Molly's answer confused her further.

"I have to match him, so I can beat him."

When she had recovered, Molly had no recollection of ever saying those words, but Cordelia couldn't forget. It became increasingly clear in the months after her arrival, Molly was no mere witch.

At six, she was already probably able for the test of the seven wonders, not that Cordelia would administer it. Not only was she far too young, the Supreme herself had the strangest sense that Molly wasn't a witch at all. It would certainly explain the extent of her powers and the fact Cordelia's health hadn't started to deteriorate yet. Alongside the tragedy of what happened to Misty, Cordelia was sure she wouldn't administer it again until she was _sure._

After her metamorphosis into a full blown teenager, it almost solidified the notion. Nevertheless, Cordelia kept her under her wing. Power did not always equal madness, and she wanted to raise the girl right and make sure she wouldn't head down a dark path.

To protect her from the others, a story was told that Molly had returned to her parents, but that her sister had come instead as a newly-recognised witch. No one knew the truth, save for Cordelia, Myrtle and Zoe.

With an impatient huff, Molly left the office to return to her room, her head swimming with thoughts. She was fully aware of the glares the others would throw her way when she perfected something the first try, how she could do so much more than even the tutor demonstrated. She hated making them feel insecure, especially as she wasn't even sure she was a witch in the first place.

Cordelia had danced around the subject, but they knew that both party had thought about it. Molly had spent countless hours pouring her energy over books and search engines, desperate for an answer for her existence and purpose. Many a night she cried over the helpless feeling, until her roommate tossed a pillow her way to shut her up and she quietened herself after that.

All of her answers brought her back to one, something so ludicrous she never paid much attention to. Until one day at the supermarket, a lady shoved a free bible into her hand and begged her to pray before the world was truly lost.

Molly hadn't prayed since she left the convent, simply because there was no one there to force her to. None of the witches were religious for obvious reasons, so she simply fell out of touch with the concept of it.

There was a certain allure to it, the book that she had haphazardly thrown into her nightstand. So one night, she had whipped it out and used the light of her phone under her blankets to read.

She had read the book cover to cover within two days, and an eerie sense had settled in the pit of her stomach. Molly didn't read it expecting to find answers, but as it turns out, the answers the book provided so perfectly fit into her narrative, like a key in a lock.

* * *

"You're probably all wondering about the pots placed in front of you," Zoe had began, watching their eager eyes trail back and forth between her and the pots.

Everyone loved their practical classes, revelling in the opportunity to exercise their abilities. It used to be Molly's favourite time of the week, but now she dreaded it, fearing the reactions she would face when she'd inevitably far succeed.

"One of the most important aspects of a witch is her connection with the natural world," she explained, heading towards her desk and her own soil-filled pot. "When fully trained, a witch will involve the natural elements in all of her rituals, and even take control of it."

As natural as day, Zoe hovered her hand over the pot. The girls watched, transfixed, as a green sapling suddenly appeared in the soil.

"I want you all to try and do the same, each of you have seeds inside the soil. Make them grow at a faster rate," she watched with interest as the girls followed her instructions. Molly's hands stayed in her lap at first, but a swift glance from Zoe had her following suit.

The majority of the girls were able to grow the sapling immediately, few struggled but eventually got it with guidance. But just as expected, Molly's powers had taken it to the next level, leaving a large sunflower higher than her head sticking out from the brown pot.

"Typical," the girl beside her muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Isn't there some kind of advanced class for her to go into? Because if you're keeping her here to make us all feel bad, it's working," another witch blurted out, eyes full of anger after being shown up, once again.

"I'm sorry! I can't help it!" Molly apologised, standing up from her seat and preparing to leave the scene entirely.

"Were you able to help that whole growing up overnight thing?" The girl she recognised to be named Kayla replied, standing up as well.

"I-I-" Molly stammered, shocked that everyone had seemed to notice. Lying went against everything she believed in, but Cordelia had insisted it was for her own good.

"Did you really think we'd believe that cover story? You're no witch, Molly," she sneered. "Maybe that's why those nuns were so quick to get rid of you."

"Stop it," she pleaded, sensing the direction this was going.

"That's enough, Kayla," Zoe intervened, approaching the two.

"What was it they called you?" She continued, walking right up to her until they were foot to foot. "Satan's bitch _-"_

"I said _stop it_!" Molly bellowed, the words bristling her skin and disgusting her entirely.

"What is it you devil-worshippers say?" She laughed at the rising reaction she was gaining.

"Stop it, now," Zoe demanded, placing a hand on both girl's shoulders.

" _Ave sata-"_

"SHUT UP!" Molly roared, the harshest words and tone any of them had ever heard from her. A sweeping rush of energy flooded the room, taking the girls' breath away momentarily.

Molly immediately shrugged out of Zoe's grip and turned to run to her room, tears of anger forming in her eyes.

Soft gasps of surprise filled the room, prompting Zoe to turn back around. The sweeping energy that emitted from Molly's outburst was powerful, it seemed, as a dozen large sunflowers now sprouted across the room from every single potted plant.

* * *

Sleeping was an activity Molly absolutely _detested_. No matter how much she tried, the specialists she had seen or the herbal remedies she tried, Molly couldn't stop the onslaught of images that would plague her dreams.

What was worse was that she couldn't wake up and shake it off as a nightmare, for she knew they were _real_.

Her dream counterpart opened her eyes with a jolt, staring around at her surroundings. She was in her own bed, for once a familiar setting, but she knew she was still dreaming.

Molly began to gaze around the room, waiting for the shift in scenery or the horrifying encounter to happen. But the only thing that caught her eye was a shift in movement in the mirror facing her bed.

A small gasp left her lips when she fully noticed it, scrambling to climb out of bed and approach the mirror without hesitation. As if by magic, the reflection's image was not a mirror view of her bedroom, rather a look into a different bedroom entirely, with someone fast asleep in a bed.

Even dreaming, Molly knew there was a significance to this, as there always was when she slept. Cordelia had said she was gifted with the 'sight', in one of its many forms.

Tentatively, the teenager lifted her palm up shakily and reached forward to press her hand against the glass, although nothing met her skin.

Confused, she pushed her hand further forward and found that the mirror, wasn't really a mirror any more at all. It was like an open doorway, waiting for her to enter it.

A figure passed in the corner of her eye, and she immediately scampered back before she got caught, crouching down in her bedroom's darkness, but watching curiously.

From what she could see, a blonde -haired woman, approximately in her forties, was making her way towards the sleeping figure in the bed. Perhaps the scene would have been strange enough, had she not been gripping a kitchen knife in her hand.

Reacting to her best judgement, Molly let out a quick shout in protest, and sailed toward the mirror. The blonde stopped at the side of his bed, apparently not having heard her, and lifted the knife higher, hovering above the boy.

Molly climbed through the opening, desperate to save the innocent who was about to be murdered. For her dreams had always shown her the destruction of innocence, and what reason had she to think this would be any different?

The woman may not have heard of the girl's shouts, but the boy in the bed certainly did. His eyes flashed open, immediately sensing the impending danger behind him and reacting accordingly.

Molly reeled back as flames began to engulf the woman's body, blood-curdling screams of agony filling the room as she seemed to spontaneously combust. The dark haired girl was frozen on the spot, for as vast as her powers were, she had never seen such a spectacle. Therefore, she didn't _know_ how to help.

Thankfully, another saving grace came in the form of a different blonde boy coursing through the air and pushing the woman out of harm.

Molly walked forward, ready to offer her assistance as she bent down to check her injuries and hopefully heal her. But before she could touch her skin, the two disappeared, as if they had never existed.

Her hands flew about the ground, searching for any sign that they had been real and not a figment of imagination. The only thing she was sure of as she stood up, though - was that she really wanted to wake up now.

"Who are you?" A voice sounded from the bed, the boy who had been asleep finally sitting upright. He was bare-chested, and bore an expression of pure hurt and betrayal, she could tell.

Molly's eyes lifted from the bare ground beneath her to meet his, forcing herself not to recoil at the sharpness of his gaze.

"You can see me?" She asked in return. This was another first for her; never in all her dreams had another person been able to see her.

"Another ghost of this hellhole, I'd imagine," he complained, rolling his eyes and sniffing quietly before reaching for a shirt and dragging it over his head. "I suggest you leave before you suffer the same fate."

"I'm not a ghost," she whispered, still positively baffled. "And... _you_ did that?"

"And _you_ woke me up, did you not?" He threw her a passing glance. "Thanks for that. But she wouldn't have gotten very far anyway."

"I'm not a ghost, I'm a-" she broke off suddenly, eyes following him as he packed clothes into a backpack. She hesitated with her answer. Not of fear, but because she simply didn't know any more _what_ she was.

"It's a shame, had you have revealed yourself to me before I would have rather liked you," he grumbled, glancing up and down her body, but somehow she knew it was a front. When he thought she couldn't see, he was whipping stray tears away from his cheeks.

"I am _not_ a ghost. Why are you leaving?"

"Because that was my mother," he revealed, barely looking at her.

"Then why would she try to kill you?"

"Haven't you heard?" He grinned wickedly, his sad eyes contrasting his expression. "I'm the _Antichrist_."

A strange sensation filled her body, almost causing her to stumble backward. It was as if her mind, that was always so muddled and confused, had cleared suddenly. And now she could see what she really was. More importantly, what _he_ was.

The boy was ignorant of her epiphany, storming past her with his bag on his back and fully prepared to leave without ever stepping foot in this house again.

An instinct she wasn't sure of when she developed caused her to reach out and grip onto his bare elbow, before he could leave. Immediately following, a burning sensation - strong enough to leave the hiss that came with the charring of their conjoined skin, prompting them both to jump back in shock.

It was silent for a moment, Michael staring at the red handprint on his arm and Molly staring at her fiery palm, wincing at the pain arising.

When their eyes met, he looked upon he with a newfound sense of distrust and interest. Taking a step forward, his eyes flashed with an emotion she couldn't decipher.

"Who _are_ you?" He asked again, more forceful with his tone.

Just when she opened her mouth to answer, with the true response this time, Molly was dragged back forcefully. Her vision fading to black momentarily and the sensation of falling into an abyss overwhelming her.

When her eyes finally opened again, her gaze revealed the ceiling above her bed, the sunlight breaking through the window.

Where usually she would revel in these last few calm moments before the start of a day, now she shot out of bed like a dart. Molly had work to do now.

And talking to Cordelia was first.


	3. Wrath

**WHEN MOLLY CROMWELL BURST INTO CORDELIA'S OFFICE UNANNOUNCED,** the Supreme knew whatever matter she would soon discuss would be urgent.

Ever since they had first met, all those years ago, Molly was a rather backward individual. While others would be boastful of having power and beauty like she did, Madison Montgomery to name one, the girl retreated further back into a shell the more focus was placed on her.

Most assumed that it was because of her humble childhood spent at the convent, or the teasing that she was at the centre of for being _different_. But Cordelia Goode wasn't anyone, and she knew without having to even open her psychic eye that Molly was simply lost.

Therefore, it took her by surprise when the teenager sauntered towards the chair in front of her desk, head held high and shoulders straightened, her gaze fixed on Cordelia. There was a newfound confidence to her, that the witch would soon realise the source of.

"Molly? What is it?" She enquired, gesturing for her to sit down. The smallest of smiles formed on the dark haired girl's lips, excited for the impending conversation.

"I know who I am, Delia," she beamed, bursting with elation. "It was like I had forgotten, but _he_ reminded me last night. It's like there was a part of my brain that was asleep, but now it's awake and I know _everything_."

"Who's 'he'?" She asked first, trying to decipher her words through her gushing.

"My father, Cordelia," she nodded her head, eyes wide. When she saw that the Supreme still didn't understand, she flicked her gaze to the ceiling above her head. "Whatever it is you want to call him. The Almighty. Creator of heaven and earth. I've been testing out ' _dad'_ but it feels a little informal-"

"You're talking about God?" Cordelia cut her god, unable to mask her disbelief.

"Yes," she nodded again, pursing her lips and remaining quiet to allow the blonde a moment.

"Are you saying you're.. born-again Christian, or-?"

"Cordelia, I put the Christ _in_ Christian," she joked, laughing at herself, completely fuelled by her giddiness.

"If this is some kind of joke," she smiled tightly, "I appreciate the sentiment, Molly. But I'm afraid I have a lot of work to do-"

"Cordelia it isn't a joke!" She begged, her expression faltering at her disbelief. "I can prove it to you!"

"How?" She dared to question, albeit sceptically.

"W-well..." she stuttered, thinking about it. "I don't actually know. But I know it's the truth. I'm the second coming of Christ, Delia. I'm here to save the world."

Cordelia stared blankly at the teen for a few seconds, so in an attempt at reducing the awkwardness, Molly shrugged her shoulders.

"Sounded a bit pretentious towards the end there, I'm not here to like... Christopher Columbus the whole world, just here to stop one little devil spawn and then I'm out."

Cordelia continued to stare, wondering if the joke were to end soon and ignoring her gut feeling, which was telling her that Molly _wasn't_ lying. It couldn't possibly have been true, could it?

"Fine," she sighed in exasperation, reaching her hand towards Cordelia to touch. "Check me. I'll prove I'm not crazy."

Cordelia was apprehensive - the last time she had 'checked' Molly was when she was six, and still she remembered the divine sensation that flowed through her body, cleansing her aura and soul.

Taking note of her pleading brown eyes, she reached out and grasped onto Molly's palm, jolting slightly as warmth began to fill her again.

Normally, when she would use her power to visualise a person's life, Cordelia would see flashes of their most horrifying and tragic moments. But for Molly, it was rather the opposite. The new knowledge packed into her brain she had mentioned earlier was a phrase she now understood, as instead of just seeing Molly's life, she saw the _truth_.

She snapped her eyes open and dropped the hand with a gasp, not having felt quite so shaken in some time. It wasn't a power she used often.

"Oh... my god," she whispered, staring intently at Molly and getting up from her chair to round the table.

"Not quite, but close though," she teased, standing up in turn.

"Sweet child," the blonde murmured, reaching out and cupping the younger woman's cheeks delicately. "You're so young to have to face such evil alone."

"It's what I was born to do, Delia," Molly whispered, all essence of happiness falling from her physique and being replaced by a sudden sadness.

Molly thought her childhood ended when she woke up two feet taller and ten years older, but instead, she realised that the moment her innocence, her mortal life, ended - was last night.

For every moment after this, would be spent consumed by preparation for the fight.

* * *

"You're far too young to go off alone, Molly," Cordelia tried to convince her, staring solemnly as she hurriedly packed a bag.

"I'm not young at all, Delia," Molly refuted. "Nor am I old. I'm not anything, just a vessel, if you think about it."

"You may have been born with a purpose, as I was, but you are no less of a human being for it," she stopped her by grabbing her forearm, forcing her to listen before she could leave.

"Human beings can't do the things I do, and that's exactly why I am not and _cannot_ be one," she whispered sadly, overcome with emotion as she stepped toward her and was immediately wrapped in a hug.

Cordelia was the only motherly figure she had in her life, and now, she wasn't so sure she'd ever see her again. Her only saving grace was the knowledge that if she succeeded, Cordelia would live. And so would everyone else she loved and knew. So would the world.

The blonde blinked away tears that managed to form, breathing a laugh and shaking her head as she let go of the teenager.

"You be careful out there, okay? Have you got the money I gave to you?" When Molly nodded, she gave her one last hug, more so that she couldn't see her cry than out of sentiment. "Take care of that Satanic son of a bitch for me."

"I will," Molly grinned, stepping back and leaving the bedroom before she too would start crying. The entire trip towards the car, that was waiting to take her to an airport, she tried to convince herself that these feelings were only out of attachment. That she was a mere vessel, and nothing more.

Before she could open the front door, a voice from a group in the living room stopped her, coming from the very girl she argued with the day before.

"Finally leaving, are you?" She smirked. "Only a weak witch can't handle a little hazing."

"I'm not a witch," Molly corrected.

"Good, because this _is_ a coven of powerful witches. I'm sure there's a hermit house down the street."

Molly smiled politely, her gaze dropping to the white day dress Hayley bore. Coincidentally, she also happened to notice the bottle of red wine, that was surely a few decades old, next to her on the cabinet.

With a flick of her wrist, barely any exertion involved, Molly smashed the bottles to smithereens - ensuring all of its contents landed directly on Hayley.

With that satisfactory image and shout of surprise, she left the house through the front door she had came through years before, ignorant of the fact that she had already broken one of the seven deadly sins.

 _Wrath_.

* * *

The second the cab pulled up to the lot, Molly was overwhelmed with a sense of sorrow. The house radiated an energy unlike any other, similar to that of a graveyard, yet positively electric.

She was nearly sure she had the wrong house at first glance, had her wave of emotion not been so strong. Straightening her shoulders and tightening her grip on her backpack, Molly took a deep breath and headed towards the front door.

It was locked, of course, the real estate obviously trying to prevent entry. But to any being of power this was no obstacle, all it took was a nod of her head and the door creaked open.

Despite supposedly being empty, it was well kept, the furniture that remained with the house dusted and clean. A sickening feeling hit her stomach, one so intense she stumbled back a step. The trauma and misery suffered here was intense.

"Thank god," a voice down the hall shouted, causing her to jump on the spot. To accompany it, a blonde, elderly woman came out of the kitchen, a cigarette between her fingers and a Southern twinge to her accent. "Can you for _gods_ sake get rid of that carcass in the living room? I'm sick of the smell of death in here."

"What carcass?" She asked, scanning her quickly with her eyes. "Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter who I am honey," she turned on the spot and began to march upstairs, leaving a trail of cigarette smoke in her wake. "You won't see me again anyway."

Molly stared, absolutely transfixed, as the woman disappeared into thin air before her very eyes, confirming her original belief. It seemed the house was rather haunted, after all.

Following the scent of decay, Molly's expression scrunched in disgust, hearing flies circulating the closer she got to the dining room. Despite being told outright, she still recoiled at he image of a dead girl laying on the kitchen table, slaughtered.

"Oh no," she whispered to herself, looking around the room for any signs of a murder weapon or cause. But she didn't need the cause of death to know what this was - this girl was sacrificed.

Along with the realisation of her identity, Molly had information loaded into her brain surfacing about the usage, and misuse, of her powers. She knew that to resurrect those who died naturally would disrupt the natural order. But this girl was sacrificed by the Antichrist, it seemed, and that called for pure, divine intervention.

Holding her breath as she neared closer, she lifted her hand to place it on the girl's stiffened, cold hand, wincing at the sensation of it. It had taken a few seconds longer than the first time she tried it, but the woman still woke up with a gasp none the less.

She coughed immediately, ridding herself of the death and decay that had formulated on the inside. Molly watched, biting her lip, as the external wounds the girl suffered immediately healed and regenerated. The entire process took minutes, and when she was done - she looked just as alive as she did before she died. A benefit of divine necromancy, she supposed.

When she physically came around, the girl began to scream in horror, her mental state returning to her and the last images she remembered seeing coming back.

"Shhh! It's okay!" Molly pleaded, comfortingly placing a hand on her elbow. The girl snapped her head to look, eyes wide with terror as she scrambled away from her. When Molly removed her hand, she placed both hands on the side of her head, rocking back and forth as her mind adjusted to being alive again and with her horrifying final moments.

Molly waited a couple minutes, trying to decide if she did the right thing at all by bringing the girl back, judging by her hysterical state. Deciding to use her abilities for intervention again, the girl stepped around the table and gently removed the woman's hands from her head.

She poured her calming aura into her touch, and the woman - who's name she deduced was Sarah, looked at her with wide eyes, her sobs quietening. Molly replaced her hands on her head with her own, staring deep into her eyes before allowing her own eyelids to flutter, her powers soothing the girl's mind.

"It's over now," Molly spoke, smiling gently, "I can make you forget, Sarah. Do you want me to get rid of your pain?"

Sarah's gaze faltered, looking down as tears started to pour again, silently this time.

"No," she revealed, a croak in her voice. "I want you to kill me. I don't want to live in a world with such _evil_ walking around. I've seen the devil. I don't want to see again."

Molly nodded sadly, upset by the admission but taking responsibility for her actions - she brought her back to life, it was her who would have to fix it.

The dark-haired girl leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, effectively ripping her back from the world of the living. Molly caught her as she began to fall back, slowly lowering her down to the table once again.

If she couldn't bring her back to life, Sarah deserved to be buried and mourned by her family. So she turned her body in to the police subsequently, and set out to find the perpetrator.

* * *

To find Satan's spawn, all Molly had to do was follow her instincts. It seemed a connection had formed since their physical contact in her dream, not that she believed it was a dream at all any more.

It was as if a string had been tied between her body and his, and all she had to do was follow it to get to him.

Her search had led her, hours later, to a supermarket downtown. When she stepped inside of it, she did so hesitantly - for Molly may have known what he looked like, but he also knew what she looked like.

To appear less suspicious, she grabbed a shopping cart on her way inside, deciding to buy food to take back with her to the house. It was a place she knew the Antichrist wouldn't step foot in again, and any place he wouldn't go was a place she needed to be for safety.

Molly tossed random items into the cart - foods she liked, mainly junk food. She rushed rather hurriedly down the aisles, eager to see him before he would leave the store. The closer she got, the more her heart raced with anticipation. It was almost like the closer she was, the hotter she grew. Any further away, and she became colder.

Molly Cromwell froze in her step the first time she saw the Antichrist. Or more; the back of his head. He was in the middle of arguing with a butcher, pushing a cart of his own.

Just like that, Molly wasn't the second coming of Christ any more. She was the fearful teenage girl, who thought she would be more prepared for this moment but clearly was not. Molly had left Cordelia promising that she didn't need any help or assistance, but she was mistaken.

She watched with bated breath, hands gripping the handlebar of her cart with a deathly grip, as the butcher spit words at the blonde boy. Her chest clenched with tension, knowing full well the essence of all evil would ever allow him to escape unscathed.

Sure enough, his posture became rigid all of a sudden, his left hand stiffening in an awkward position. Molly's eyes snapped to the left just in time to notice a number of knives leaving their positions on a chopping board.

Immediately, she pushed aside her fear and threw her own hand out, catching the blades just in time as they stopped midair in front of the man, who stared blankly in horror.

Michael's head turned to look at the obstruction, eyes narrowing. He pushed his power further, and for the first time in her life - Molly had to exert her powers to stay in control. The knives began to shake with the sheer forces being exerted on it. Eventually, the blades began to bend outward from the pressure.

Realising their sudden ineffectiveness, Michael dropped his hand, focusing his attention on the person behind him instead. He turned on the spot to face Molly, eyes narrowed with fury and even further with recognition.

They stayed like that for a moment, their eyes meeting once again releasing a crackling tension between the two.

"You," he muttered, looking absolutely murderous.

* * *

 _ **I hope everyone like it so far! I haven't got the chance to really hash Molly's character out yet, and I can't wait to do that.  
**_

 _ **Thanks to TheTinyMouse and TheMoldyLunchbox for leaving a review, it really encourages me! xx**_


	4. Mirror Image

**"DON'T MAKE ME ASK ANOTHER TIME WHO YOU ARE,"** were the first words he spoke, a mere confirmation to Molly that she was not dreaming before.

"That's for me to know and for you, to crawl back into your hole," she bit back, the quivering butcher catching her eye. His shakes caught the Antichrist's attention too it seemed, as he lifted his hand as quick as a flash and buried the one remaining knife she hadn't seen into his chest.

"No!" She shouted in horror, eyes widened as the stranger crumpled to the ground, a grin forming on _his_ face. "Why would you do that?"

She threw him the harshest glare imaginable, darting toward the gap next to the meat counter and rounding around it, dropping to her knees when she reached the man.

"Tell me what you are or I'll do it again," he threatened, a sadistic smirk on his face.

Molly ignored his words, ripping the blade from the butcher's chest and placing her hand on his forehead, immediately resurrecting him. The man shot up with a gasp, clutching his chest and searching for a wound as Molly soothingly rubbed his arm.

Michael watched the scene with narrowed eyes, her disruption, and more specifically the powers she bore, infuriating him. He turned back around to face the front of the store, where a spotty, bored-looking teenager was manning the till. His eyes rolled back again, feeling the power surge through his veins.

Molly's head snapped up, sensing the power building up within him - despite being a few feet away. She followed his gaze and saw the girl, who couldn't have been more then seventeen like themselves, and immediately thrust her hand forward.

He flew back through the air, the powers he was calling upon interrupted as his back smacked into the shelves of the aisle, knocking everything onto the floor.

Molly let go of the man she saved, allowing him to scamper towards a hiding spot. Feeling the fear dissipate from her body, she came around the counter again, ready to face him down.

She hadn't expected the final battle to be so soon, but it was obvious killing innocent people was something he already actively engaged in - she didn't have any more time to prepare for it.

Reminding herself that this was not two thousand years ago, Molly quickly glanced around for the security cameras eying them, destroying them with a blink of her eye.

"You want to know who I am, son of Satan?" She asked, teasing a little. She stopped directly across from him, watching as he scrambled to get back on his feet. "I'm the one who was sent to stop you. I guess you could call me the competition."

"Who could ever be strong enough to compete with the _Antichrist_?" He emphasised his title, as if it would phase her.

"Christ."

Surprisingly, his instinctual reaction was to roll his eyes and laugh at the ridiculous suggestion. The mere idea that the girl in front of him, who was no more than a teenager like himself, was the Second Coming of Christ was ridiculous.

"You don't look like the man I see on Church windows," he raised an eyebrow, giving her a once over.

"And you don't have a goats head and hooves, so who's judging?" She fired back.

What Molly failed to realise, was that he wasn't simply teasing, it was all for the purpose of distraction. Embarrassingly, she failed to see the two discarded shopping carts were now sailing through the air, hurtling towards her.

Her quick reflexes were what saved her, mere inches away from being hit she threw her arm up and telekinetically stopped the carts in their track. They fell to the ground with a loud clang, allowing Molly a split second to look around and find her next course of action.

"What in Satan's name are you two doing?" A middle-aged woman appeared at the end of an aisle, entirely decked out in black with cropped short hair. Her expression was incredulous, instead of fearsome like any rational person would be.

"Sure, just expose yourselves in the middle of Cost Mart, why don't ya?" She rolled her eyes, taking a few steps forward and glaring at the two of them.

Ignoring the woman, who quite obviously must have known the Antichrist, Molly whipped out the blade she had removed from the butchers chest and hid underneath her shirt.

She flew forward so fast there was a whooshing sound, the knife poised in her hand and pressing directly above the place in his chest where his heart would be.

There was a split second where she faltered, her good natured heart overtaking her drive as she watched his expression fall from anger to fear. He looked so much like a child at that instant, not at all ready to die. Molly wondered if he was as emotionless as she tried to be, or if he too struggled with the humanity bore into them from growing up in this world.

But the second it took her to think, was a second long enough for Michael to push aside the temporary shock and send her flailing backwards, hitting the back of her head against the glass case above the meat. Molly let out a cry of pain, a fiery burn building in the back of her skull and the unmistakeable sensation of blood starting to trickle down her hair.

Ms Mead laughed loudly at the sight, holding her hand out towards Michael for him to high-five her.

"That's my boy!" She congratulated, smacking his hand, although he kept his eyes fixed on the dark haired girl sinking to the ground, clutching her head.

"Molly, isn't it?" He asked, his voice like velvet as he crouched down in front of her. He was positively intrigued by her, his eyes bright with interest as he gazed over her features. "Don't make me kill you, you're far too fiery to go back to heaven just yet."

His words confused her, as his emotions towards her had clearly shifted somewhat in the minutes since they encountered each other. He smiled softly, looking both triumphant and fascinated by the image of her. She stared back silently, unable to answer him.

Michael stood up slowly, keeping his eyes on her as he followed Ms Mead towards the exit. Embarrassed by her failure and her weakness, Molly blinked away the rapid tears forming in her eyes and used one of her newfound abilities to shift her body back to the house, all in the time it would take to snap her fingers.

* * *

Molly stood in the bathroom mirror, a smaller, handheld mirror being held behind her as she tried to assess the damage to the back of her head. More to the point, if she would need stitches or not. She didn't want to waste the money Cordelia had given her, and although she could heal others, self-healing was not a talent Molly was blessed with.

"You shouldn't need stitches," a woman's voice sounded behind her, scaring her half to death. Molly almost dropped the mirror, whirling around to see a familiar woman standing in the doorway.

"Who are you?" She asked, trying to sound as polite as possible to the clearly deceased woman, and hoping she wouldn't hate her too much for stopping her from killing the Antichrist.

"My name is Vivian," she greeted with a warm smile, taking a step further to fully inspect her head. Molly stared at herself and the woman in the wall-hanging mirror. She was around forty, with long, blonde hair to absolutely die for. Her aura radiated comfort and happiness, and Molly felt instantly at ease. "This was my house."

"Sorry for like... squatting in it," she chuckled awkwardly.

"There's a lot more than just me who lives here, it's nice to have someone with good intentions for once," she commented sarcastically, a tone to her voice that suggested a long history. "I saw what you did to the girl downstairs."

"I felt horrible," a wave of sadness immediately engulfed her, barely noticing as Vivian cleaned the blood off of her head. "I wanted to _save_ her."

"The only way to save anyone is to stop him," she spoke smartly, raising an eyebrow at her in the mirror.

"If I had any idea who it was you were trying to kill... I would never have-" she started to plead forgiveness, but Vivian merely waved a hand.

"I would never have been able to stop him, I'm just a ghost mom," she smiled softly. "But you, you're special. As far as I can see."

"You don't know the half of it," Molly drily chuckled.

"What are you? Some kind of witch?" She outright asked.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Molly sighed, turning around to face her.

"I'm a ghost who mothered the Omen, I think I can handle a little unbelievable." Molly's eyebrows raised at that revelation, but decided she wouldn't question Vivian further and make their warming conversation awkward.

"I'm the second coming of Christ," Molly shrugged, hoping that was all she'd have to say.

"You're _Jesus Christ_?" Another voice cut through the room, revealing a teenage girl standing in the doorway, around her own age. She was staring with an incredulous gaze, beckoning someone behind her. "Dad! She's Jesus! Both of us lost the frickin' bet!"

"Violet!" Vivian scolded, retreating backward as she heard the incoming footsteps of her husband, who she was still actively avoiding. "I have to go, Molly. But we will talk later."

When the dark haired girl looked back, Vivian had vanished into thin air, just like the other blonde woman from the day before.

Violet's 'dad' came into view as well, sighing softly when he noticed that Molly was alone and then throwing his hands into the air.

"Dammit, I really thought she was a witch," he muttered, placing his hands on his waist and radiating disappointment.

"Nah, I'm the one and only," Molly laughed a little. "I'm not Jesus though, that was his actual name. You can call me, like, Molly Christ."

"For the record, my theory of 'demon girl turns good after seeing the innocence in humanity' was A+, I'm not even entirely convinced I'm wrong," Violet disputed, shaking her head.

"You are wrong though," Molly said matter-of-factly.

"That's a matter of opinion."

"That's not an opinion, dude, that's a fact," Molly struggled to fight the forming grin. After a harsh couple of weeks, and the sensation of all-consuming loneliness from departing the coven, she welcomed interactions like this.

* * *

When Molly dreamed that night, she immediately knew the direction it was headed in when she woke up in the very same bedroom she had ventured to weeks before in her mind. It was a rather weird feeling to sleep in the bed he did, but all the other beds were rather... _claimed_.

The same mirror she travelled through like a looking glass was the first thing she sought out, and sure enough, the scenery of the room was not the reflection's contents.

 _He_ was already awake, sitting at the end of his bed and staring intently. When they caught eyes, he grinned wickedly.

"It's about time, I've been waiting for you to wake up for ages."

"Why is this happening again?" She pressed, as if he would have had the answer. A thought had struck her suddenly then, if he had been waiting for her to 'awaken', why hadn't he crossed the mirrors and woken her himself?

Unless of course, he couldn't.

"You tell me, I'm not the one doing this," he crossed his arms, eyes fixed on her as she climbed out of bed and went to the mirror.

"Is that why you can't cross over?" She walked right up to the pane. This time, it was her turn to smirk and for his to falter.

"I see you're sleeping in that house, what a silly move. Now I know exactly where to find you."

"But you won't," she argued. "Or else you'd have to face down your family again."

He glowered at her for exposing him, not wanting to have anything to do with the family he left behind. The family that _betrayed_ him.

"Do it then," she pushed, leaning in so her face was centimetres from the mirror. "Come and get me."

He got up from the bed in a flash, marching toward the object between them and reaching his hand up. For a moment, she doubted herself. Perhaps she was entirely wrong, and had just invited Satan's spawn to come and kill her.

Alas, she watched as his hand flattened against an invisible barrier, the one thing that disrupted his passage. She held in the laugher that bubbled in her throat, deciding to further add insult to the mockery by lifting a random candy bar that was placed on her desk, flinging it forward through the mirror until it smacked against his shoulder.

"I don't need to go into a mirror to kill you," he sneered, ripping his hand away, his posture rigid with anger.

"What makes you think it's that easy?" She fought back, tired of him assuming he was automatically more powerful. "I was born on this earth with the sole purpose to kill you. And I intend to."

"Doesn't it sadden you?" His mood flipped from angry to sultry once more, although his words were far from alluring. "Your only purpose in the world is to be used as a weapon against me. You weren't born and given a task, you were born _for_ that task. I think it's pathetic."

"Your only purpose is to destroy this world, forgive me for not buying into your attempts at demeaning my self-confidence." Although her tone was strong, inside, he really _had_ gotten to her.

"Go back to sleep, sweet Molly," he smirked, knowing full well about her current inner turmoil. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you very soon."

* * *

 _ **Thanks everyone who's reading and following the book already! I didn't expect anyone to this early on! I hope everyone likes it so far x**_

 _ **Degrassilover - Thank you so much! I hope you like what's to come! x**_

 _ **TheTinyMouse - No thank YOU! I hope you have a lovely day/evening x**_

 _ **sheshe073 - I'm so glad you think so!**_

 ** _TheMoldyLunchbox - I'm so happy you think they have chemistry, that's the goal really! Thanks for commenting! 3_**


	5. Revelations

**"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"** A voice asked, prompting Molly to turn around on the spot and drop her hands down by her sides. It was the first woman in the house she saw that asked the question, leaning in the door frame with a glass in hand.

"Practising," she shrugged, turning her head back to the fireplace and drawing the current flames away, reducing them to ash.

"Practising to kill my grandson, I'd bet," she takes a sip from her glass, moving to sit on the couch closest to Molly. She crosses one leg over the other formally, looking at the Second Coming with pure interest as she lifted her hand and arose flames again.

"Wow, so everyone in this house is related to him?" She questioned, raising an eyebrow in surprise. Molly allowed the fire to continue to burn, turning around to leave until the lady interrupted again.

"My name is Constance Langdon," she started, grabbing her attention once more. "I'm a good Christian woman, you know. Pardon my intrusion, but I overheard your conversation with Mrs Harmon."

"I'm sure you are, miss," she responded kindly, crossing her hands in front of her.

"You're never going to stop my grandson with a few flames, he _dwells_ amongst fire," she gestured with her finger back and forth between Molly and the fireplace. "If I were you, I'd do what every strong woman does to take a man down. Seduction."

"I don't believe my father put me on this earth to seduce the essence of all evil," she breathed a laugh, shaking her head. "Seven deadly sins, and all that."

"How else do you propose to stop him, hm?" She enquired, her scrutinising gaze weakening Molly's resolve ever so slightly. "Our Lord Jesus himself died because of one of his own apostles, are you going to play the angel and let him kill you?"

"With all due respect," she sighed, "I'm not Jesus. I'm not going to die until he is dead, and that's a given. I won't be betrayed, because I have no one to be betrayed by."

Constance only raised her eyebrows and smirked, as if she knew something the younger woman didn't.

"Good luck with that," she snickered, finishing off the rest of her whiskey. "You might want to get a move on, I can promise you that he won't be putting the apocalypse on hold to wait for you."

* * *

"The second coming of Christ?" Miriam Mead echoed his words, silent for a second before breaking into howls of laughter, tilting her head back as she cackled. "Why, that's ridiculous! There is no God."

"Oh, but there is," he raised his eyebrows in annoyance, shovelling more cereal into his mouth and crunching angrily.

"Well it doesn't make a difference," she reassured him, pointing the end of her fork his way. "You're the bringer of end times, it was even prophesied in that book they pay all too much attention too. They can send a little girl to stop you, but death will happen none the less."

"It was?" He asked in confusion, eyebrows furrowing. "What did it say?"

"You've never read the Book of Revelations? It's the only part of the Bible worth reading," she explained sarcastically, dragging her mobile phone out of her pocket and opening a browser app.

It was seconds later when she handed him the phone, which he saw was opened on a webpage detailing the events the Christians believed would take place upon the birth of the Antichrist.

His lips widened further and further into a smirk as he read onwards, reading of the death and destruction to the planet that would follow his birth. However that grin faltered as he reached the end of the summary, meeting Mead's gaze again.

"It says that I will burn in the Lake of Fire and Christ will triumph," he informed in a bored tone, completely losing all interest in what he had read.

"Of course they're going to say that," she rolled her eyes, stabbing her food with her fork and chewing on a bite before continuing. "If the Christians heard that the Satanists would win a battle of good and evil, which side do you think they would take?"

"So, what do you suggest I do? About her?" He dared to question, looking at a loss all of a sudden. Michael had struggled with finding his path in all of this for years, especially since finding the Satanists and being hyped up by them as the the 'bringer of end times'. They had expected him to be born with the knowledge of how to end the world, and it only made him worry as he grew older and still didn't know.

But that path had been blocked by a new, immutable obstacle - one he hadn't expected in any way shape or form. A girl, with the appearance of an angel and power to rival his own.

"Do what was done to her predecessor," she shrugged, a wicked grin taking over her face. "Betray her, and then let her die brutally."

"You're saying I should gain her trust?" He guessed, slightly disbelieving. The girl had a fiery hatred for him, even more so than the one he held for her. How could Miriam ever think she would learn to trust him?

"Hey, she may be a child of God himself but she has a human side, same as you. She looked like a scared little girl in the supermarket, yesterday. Christ won't last a day."

Michael was silent, wading his spoon through his now-soggy cereal as his thoughts overtook his mind.

* * *

This time in her dreams, it was Molly who waited for Michael to awaken. Sitting patiently at the end of her bed, she used the view through her mirror to inspect his appearance, which was fully visible as his body angled towards her.

He was breathtakingly beautiful, the definition of a fallen angel. With a halo of blonde hair and bone structure carved by Satan himself, Molly thought it was rather a waste. He couldn't have been older than herself, and still he held that childlike innocence to his appearance when he slept.

"Have you been enjoying watching me sleep?" He spoke suddenly, startling her enough to jump. It had been probably thirty minutes since she had awoken in her dream state, but Molly had the patience of a saint. Literally, speaking.

"I've been wondering where you hide your horns," she joked, casting her gaze away in embarrassment as he rose to his feet to walk towards the mirror.

"I can tell you're blushing," he pointed out unashamedly, plopping down to sit cross-legged in front of the mirror.

"I was letting you have your sleep, God willing it'll be your last," she replied, her tone firmer and stronger than previously as she moved too, to sit in front of him.

"Oh, will it?" He chuckled, a cheeky grin forming. "Will I be seeing you tomorrow then?"

"I see no reason for us to drag this out further," she leaned in, her eyes fixed on his. "We meet tomorrow night, in a remote area."

"I'll bring a picnic," he hummed, looking rather excited at the prospect.

"The Antichrist's Last Supper," she smirked herself, "rather fitting."

"I hope you're prepared to be the Body and Blood again, just like your brother."

"What a waste it is," she dropped her smile, her tone turning serious. "Someone with gifts like yours could change the world, and you choose to end it."

"Save it for Church, darling," he snapped back, glowering at her attempts of softening him. "What a waste it is for you, you're willing to die without having lived, all to stop me. You could have years left, I'm willing to wait to kill you, you know?"

"That's rather merciful, " she raised an eyebrow, "perhaps you'll be redeemed yet."

"Meet me on the football pitch at Baker High tomorrow at 10pm," he informed her, standing up abruptly with a clench in his jawline, exposing its sharpness.

Just like that, he disappeared before her very eyes, ending their dream connection. The amused lift to the corners of her mouth lowered when she realised that tomorrow would really be the end of her time on earth. For even if she succeeded in killing the Antichrist, her reason for living would be destroyed too, and she would be dragged to Heaven.

* * *

Picking out ones outfit when they knew they would die in it was no easy feat, but nothing about that day was simple.

Molly Cromwell had awoken that morning with a weight on her chest, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was _terrified._

Her knowledge of life after death was limited, she supposed that it was on purpose. Her ascension to Heaven after death was most probable, but what was waiting on the other side was nothing short of frightening.

It was now thirty minutes before the pre-disposed meeting time, and Molly had decided to spend her last few minutes talking with the women who had raised her.

Nervously, she dialled the number on her phone, curled into a ball on her bed as she listened to the ring resound in her ear. Her eyebrows furrowed as the seconds went on, without anyone there to answer her call. When it finally rang out and she reached Cordelia's voicemail, she lowered the phone and went to the next number - Zoe's.

"Hello? Molly?" She answered excitedly, causing a sad smile to overtake her face.

"Hi, Zoe..." she whispered quietly, clutching the phone tighter at the sound of her voice.

"What's wrong?" She enquired, worry filling her tone. "Are you okay?"

"Everything's fine!" She answered, forcing a higher voice to hide the suspicion. "How are you? How is everyone?"

"Everyone is fine, but we all miss you of course," she admitted, letting out a sigh. "Listen, uh, Cordelia told me... have you met... _him,_ yet?"

Molly paused for a second, before releasing a hum into the speaker.

"Oh my gosh, is he still alive? Does he know who you are?"

The dark haired girl considered her next answer thoughtfully. She could be honest, as she _always_ was, and tell her that this would be the last time they would speak. Or alternatively, she could lie and tell her that he was already dead, to soothe the girl's mind. She had, after all, grown up with these women. Molly knew firsthand that Cordelia and Zoe would immediately appear at Baker High to help, and she couldn't bear to put them in harms way.

"He's already dead, I killed him the first time we met," she lied, for the first time in her entire life. Surely having broke another sin she hoped she wouldn't be judged too harshly for.

"Oh, thank god for that!" She breathed out, "well, like, not _god_... but you know what I mean!"

"Yeah," Molly giggled, feeling a lump building in her throat that was a telltale sign of incoming tears. "Zoe, I have to go. I just wanted you and Cordelia to know that I love you both very much, and to thank you for raising me."

"Wait, Molly-" she started, concerned again. But there was no one on the other line any more for her to question, a click sounding through the receiver.

* * *

Molly stood in the empty football field, ignoring the chill that settled over her skin, although she barely felt it with the anticipation building inside her.

In the end, she had decided upon a plain white dress, looking as heavenly as she possibly could for her upcoming ascension. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that tonight would go in her favour, after all, the Bible itself had told of what Christ's return to Earth would bring.

Despite having set the time, Michael was nowhere to be seen when she waited in the centre of the empty field at 10 sharp. She wondered then if she had been tricked, crossing her arms over her chest patiently and listening intently for the sound of his presence.

His arrival then was rather obvious, the stadium lights that kept the field lit starting to extinguish. One by one, from the start of the field moving backwards the lights went out, leaving Molly in almost complete darkness - save for the sliver of moonlight breaking through the clouds.

"I hope you don't mind," he suddenly appeared behind her, prompting her to snap around to see him there, standing amidst a cloud of fog. "I prefer the dark."

"Anything else you want to wait for? Is there a band set to play for your death scene?" She asked smartly. "Or can we get this over with?"

"If you're so eager to die, then, of course."

His hands shot up from his side, lifting into the air and being followed immediately by the sound of creaking metal. Molly sensed what he was doing without having to look, feeling the stadium light behind her bend to his power with the intention of dropping on her.

She waited until the very last second to react, toying with him, as mere inches before it hit the top of her head with enough weight to flatten her, Molly disappeared on the spot and reappeared twenty feet away.

His hair flicked through the air as he turned to see her new position.

"Clever," he called out to her in amusement.

Then, it was her time to counteract, flicking her wrist after taking control of the stadium light and detaching it from its pole. Hoping to catch him by surprise, she sent it sailing towards his head. But following her trick, he waited until the last possible second before transporting himself elsewhere.

Michael narrowed his eyes, and immediately following, a blazing ring of fire surrounded the girl, leaving her with no point of exit or entry. The ring began to expand outward, leaving her unable to even risk jumping over the flames.

But Molly was prepared, having mastered pyrokinesis herself, and took a step forward none the less, allowing the flames to engulf her body.

Michael was absolutely fascinated, the sight of the godly second-coming walking through flames, completely unphased, in a dress as white as snow was an image he'd never forget. Sure, he wasn't blind to the fact the young Christ was the definition of beauty incarnate. But never had he wanted to absolutely _ravage_ her until now - a feeling entirely unfamiliar to him.

Much like her predecessor walked on water, Molly stepped through the flames, revelling in the heat it gave off and the power that surged through her body. It was as if the fire had given her powers a boost.

After leaving the pit of fire, Molly decided she had enough of their displays of power, and placed her hands down on the ground to unleash a ground-shattering crack.

Michael tilted his head, watching as beneath her very hands the ground opened up a slit. The veins along her arm and neck began to stick out with exertion, and with that, the crack developing widened and followed in a direct path between herself and him.

He wasn't fearful at all, however. In fact, he was rather impressed by the sheer power she contained. Thinking back to Mead's earlier words, he realised that this battle would never end. They were simply fighting fire with fire, their powers too much alike to ever encompass each other.

Just as the crack reached the tip of his boot, Michael transmitted through the air again - this time directly behind Molly. Lifting his foot, he shot it out against her back, sending the girl flailing into the entrance to Hell she had opened.

She screamed in horror, reaching her hands out to grab onto rocks beneath ground and desperately dragging herself upward to stay alive.

Michael crossed his hands in front of him, watching with interest as she scrambled towards the surface again. Long was the strong woman who held no hint of fear, replaced by a girl with tears streaking her cheeks. She had never looked more human.

Having enough of the display as her elbows finally rested upon the grass, Michael rolled his eyes and crouched down, gripping her by the back of her dress and hauling her out of the pit. She sobbed into the blades of the grass on the ground, shaking from head to toe with terror.

Michael dropped to his knees in front of her as she was on all fours, cupping his hand under her chin to lift her head and meet his eyes.

"Realise that you can't beat me, Molly," he spoke, his tone and expression serenely calm. "You can either join me, or continue to try. You are not your predecessor, you do not have to die for mankind. They would surely not do the same for you."

All of a sudden, her demeanour flipped. Her quivering lips calming and her sobs quietening. Molly flexed out her hand, a long blade appearing in it that Michael immediately recognised as the same one his mother tried to kill him with.

She surged forward, using all of her weight to knock him to the ground and immediately straddling his waist. He was even surprised himself, never thinking that she'd have been able to trick _him._

Molly poised the tip of the blade directly above his heart, her fierce gaze meeting his head on. He wondered if this was her plan, if she had even meant to fall into the pit. But then he saw the resistance within her, her hand shaking ever so slightly as she held the knife, the firm set to her lips showing her reluctance.

It was clear she was struggling with ending the life of the boy who had saved her.

"You can't do it, can you?" He teased, not making an attempt to remove her off of him. She glowered at his words, but didn't move to deny them.

"I see a human side to you, I don't think you're half as evil as you like to think you are," she revealed, still not moving to kill him.

"If you think I'll change because of your mercy, I assure you, you'll be making the mistake of your life," he warned, his lips tilting upward. "But if you kill me, you'll be just as evil as I am."

Her teeth gritted, hands shaking ever more. With a gasp, she threw it to the ground and disappeared from his sight, not reappearing again, leaving Michael with a breathless smirk and missing the feeling of her sitting on top of him.

* * *

 _ **Completely overwhelmed with the positive reaction I've received so far, thanks so much to anyone who followed, favourited, reviewed or even just read so far! It means the world!**_

 _ **On another note, Michael leaves our screens this week and I'm seriously unprepared for it. I'd watch 8 seasons of him tbh, definitely one of the top 3 AHS characters for me if not my favourite.**_

 _ **sheshe073 - So glad you think they have chemistry! That's one of the most important things as the plot progresses ;) Thank you so much I hope you continue to like it!**_

 _ **hisodamn - thank you so much! 3 and thanks haha I'm always iffy people get offended by it**_

 _ **VampirePrincess86 - ahhhh thank you! I hope you like this chapter x**_

 _ **SkittleLuvr.x3 - an update for ya! I wish they did too! I feel like they tried with Mallory but to be completely honest I don't think her character was developed enough, she's just a really good witch and that's really the only depth to her character it's a little boring just being good with no character development! Thank you and I hope you have a lovely day 3**_


	6. Exodus

**"COME ON, GET UP,"** a woman's voice burst into her bedroom along with her presence. Molly turned around in her bed, eyes lazily following to see an elderly woman with red hair, dressed in a maid's uniform.

Sighing, she rolled back around, burying her head into the sheets and blankets, still not prepared to face the world.

"It's been two days, you need to get out of bed," she continued, walking towards the windows and flinging the curtains open. "For someone so holy, you certainly smell rather hellish."

"I don't care," she grumbled, perfectly content to lay there for the rest of her life.

She had gotten into bed after returning home from the altercation with Michael, and refused to get up ever since. The shame of her failure weighed heavily on her, surely half of Heaven would be watching and laughing at her expense. Molly had the perfect opportunity to end Satan's wrath upon Earth, and she had backed away.

"Well I do, these sheets must be stripped and cleaned and I can't do that with you laying in them," she pressed, standing next to the bed with her hands on her hips.

Molly turned around again, moving to sit up. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her movements slow and lethargic. She stood face to face with the maid, eyes scraping over her appearance.

With their prolonged eye contact, a newfound power Molly wasn't aware she possessed seemed to manifest, and she was suddenly able to see the woman's life story.

"Moira," she whispered, her eyes filling with her tears as she felt the woman's pain. The redhead froze instantly, watching as Molly's psychic abilities took place. Tenderly, she reached out and cupped her wrinkled cheek. "You want so desperately to leave this place, but you are trapped."

"Yes," was all she could reply, emotions building within her at the girl's words. She was truly the only one to truly acknowledge her suffering.

Moira's existence had been painful enough, the implications of an affair she didn't even truly want was her downfall. Living as a ghost in the same house for decades was harsh enough, but living with Constance Langdon was the pit of Hell.

"Say the word, and I can help you," Molly offered, placing both hands on her shoulders and looking her intently in the eye. Moira was taken aback, overwhelmed suddenly as a sob ripped through her throat, her head nodding quickly. For an end to come to her suffering would be the kindest form of mercy she could ever receive, as all she had wanted since the end of her days was to be with her mother.

"Please," Moira begged, a hand coming up to cover her quivering lips. Molly smiled assuredly, leaning in and pressing a prolonged, but gentle, kiss to her forehead. Just like that, the woman beneath her touch was gone, moving on to her final resting place - with her mother.

Now that she was gone, removing some of the heavy feeling from the house, Molly flopped back down on the bed, ready to continue her hibernation.

That was until yet another woman marched in.

"Oh thank the second-coming," Constance cheered, a smirk on her lips as she leaned against the door frame, eyeing up the girl in question. "I've been looking for a way to get rid of that old bitch for decades."

"Perhaps you shouldn't have killed her then," Molly murmured against the fabric of her pillow.

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, Molly," she commented, her smile dimming at her words. "You'll learn that someday, when you fall in love yourself."

"Never gonna happen, my only love is for my father and for the people."

"Seeing as you're so intimate with the dead," she began, getting to the point as she crossed the room and sat at the edge of her bed, looking vulnerable all of a sudden. "I need to know. Is my dear Addy... is she-"

"Is she in Heaven or Hell?" Molly guessed, Constance nodding in assurance. The dark haired girl sat up again, taking a long gaze at the older woman as she too received a play by play of her family and history in her head. Now that she knew who exactly 'Addy' was, she could give her an answer with a small smile.

"Addy's in the better place," she reassured her, squeezing her shoulder.

"I wonder... if you were to do to me and my other children what you did with that old hag, could you send us on to the better place too?" She asked, full of hope in her eyes.

"No," Molly revealed. "Beau and your daughter, surely. But, you and Tate wouldn't be permitted to the better place. You've both committed atrocities, _He_ wouldn't allow it."

"I see," she pursed her lips, nodding her head. "Well I suppose I'm thankful for this house then."

She got off of Molly's bed then forcing a smile to hide her offence, trailing towards the door. Constance stopped in her step, casting a glance back over her shoulder after quickly rubbing her cheeks.

"You really should get out of bed. You didn't die, I don't know why you're acting like somebody did. Take a shower and move on."

* * *

It was that afternoon that Molly had finally dragged herself from the throes of her bed to face the world, at Constance's bequest to get her alcohol at the local store as an excuse to get up.

She trailed down the suburb streets absentmindedly, her thoughts running a mile a minute. It wasn't often that Molly Cromwell failed - so when she did, it felt like the weight of a thousand on her back.

Her feet trudged along, dark eyes staring at the concrete beneath, but she didn't fail to notice the newer set of steps next to her.

"You look a little downtrodden," he announced, making himself and his presence known with a cocky tone and smirk. Molly stopped in her step, wondering if this was him trying to make another move to kill her.

Immediately, she tensed, the hands she had shoved into her armpits by her arms crossed on her chest, balled into fists - power building within her and begging to be unleashed.

"Calm down, fireball," he teased, prompting her to lift her gaze finally to meet his. "I'm not going to kill you here, not right next to Mrs Friels newly bought grass!"

His tone was sarcastic and one she didn't appreciate. But two days of bed-laying had pushed her to the brink, so Molly ignored her unrelenting patience for once to allow her annoyance to take over.

She turned to face him directly, an eyebrow cocked and eyes narrowed, brown meeting blue. It was typical, she thought, that the most dangerous man alive would have the most beautiful eyes.

"What is it you want then?" She asked. "Surely you have not come to gloat, it was _me_ who spared _your_ life."

"Of course I haven't come to gloat," he grinned devilishly, "but believe me, if I didn't want you sitting on top of me, you wouldn't have been."

"Then what?" She pressed, her temper rising. It was a rare sensation within her, one she had never given into until she had met the Antichrist.

"I've actually had a thought," he mused. "When you grabbed my arm the first time in my bedroom, it burned us both. A sure sign that we shouldn't be allowed engage in physical contact. But when you straddled my waist," she rolled her eyes as he mentioned it again, "nothing happened."

"And your point is?" She hurried him, not at all caring for the words he spoke. What did it matter to her if they could touch or not?

"Perhaps that is our fathers ways of consenting to a union," he reached his hand up, fingers wiggling mere centimetres from her face. Her breathing hitched, hoping that he wouldn't eventually make contact and leave a nasty burn on her skin.

"Is this you asking me for my hand in marriage?" She questioned sarcastically, startled enough to jump when he ever so gently pressed the tip of his index finger to her nose. They paused for a second, but no fire came.

He didn't answer her right away, merely looking at her nose and then into her eyes in wonder. Molly would put it down to him simply teasing her, but Michael knew the truth - it was pure fascination.

Since his Black Mass, his powers had grown exponentially. But there was one thing he wasn't able to conjure up with a wave of his hands, and that was a person who could relate to him. He _was_ the most powerful thing on earth. And now, he was one of _two_.

When his touch lingered, she reached up and gripped onto his wrist firmly, shoving his hand out of her face. To this action, he merely chuckled.

"No, not your hand in marriage," he scoffed, "why are the religious always so... religious? I was talking about a sexual union, of course."

"Ah," she quirked her brows, clearly unimpressed as she turned and began to walk again. "Slight problem you may encounter with that proposal, as I'd rather burn in the Lake of Fire for eternity."

"That could be arranged," he smirked, walking faster to match her pace and stay at her side. "So what's the plan of action? Seeing as you obviously can't kill me."

"Don't mistake my mercy for cowardice," she warned, rolling her eyes.

"Well then, what is it?" He pressured her, grabbing her arm by the elbow to whirl her around and talk.

Molly, taken by surprise, accidentally sent a jolt of psychic energy towards him, which knocked him back a couple of steps.

"Damn," he swore, chuckling lowly as he returned to his spot in front of her. "No touching, got it."

"Maybe I just don't think you're as evil as you like to think you are," she stepped closer, her words lowered for effect as she met his gaze head on. He chuckled in amusement, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that she didn't fail to see.

"Oh really?" He challenged, leaning in so his breath hit her face. "You are aware that my first kill was at the age of six?"

"Alright then," she dropped her arms from her chest, angling them to point at herself. "Then do it."

"Do what?" He shook his head in confusion.

"Kill me," she dared. "If you're so evil then just go ahead and do it, why am I still standing here?"

"You're still alive because I'm quite enjoying our game of cat and mouse, Molly," he barked a laugh, "it has nothing do with humanity."

"Okay," she responded simply, turning her head just as she heard a large truck incoming. Taking a risk, she moved quickly to step in front of it just as it came barrelling towards her.

Michael rolled his eyes, her attempt at trying to push him to save her would never work. In his eyes, this wasn't a TV movie where she would be able to change him. This was reality - and the reality was that he was the spawn of Satan.

Time seemed to move in slow motion, and the closer the truck came to hitting off of Molly's slim body, sure to smash her into smithereens, his frown grew. He was tired of her childishness.

"Move, Molly!" He ordered, an uncaring tone to his voice. But she persevered , not moving an inch except for the turn of her head towards his direction.

He had left it to the very last second to step in, and when he did, it wasn't a grand, heroic gesture of pushing her out of the way. He simply shot his hands forward and sent a burst of energy that had her flailing to the left, out of harms way and splayed out on the curb.

She reached her hands out to stop her fall, letting out a grunt of pain as she hit the concrete. Her body flooded with adrenaline, but her developing triumphant smile faded quickly when she saw Michael marching towards her.

He was practically _seething_ , his steps forceful and his chest rising and falling angrily.

"Don't try to trick me into doing that again, I'm keeping you alive because _I_ will decide when you die. Not you," he ranted at her, while she still lay spread out on the ground. Confused, she rubbed her left arm and stood up wearily.

"Nobody except my father decides when I die, so that isn't going to happen until you do. I couldn't kill myself even if I wanted to, _Michael_ ," she leaned in so her words met his face again.

When she stormed off once more, he didn't immediately follow, and instead travelled off in the complete opposite direction. _That was the last time she'd try that_ , he vowed.

* * *

As it was a Sunday, Molly had decided to put her newfound Holiness into good use. In dire need of some uplift and an idea for her next move, she tracked down the nearest Church and arrived on time for Mass.

She didn't know anyone, well, anyone that she didn't suss out with her new power - which made it a rather awkward affair as everyone at Church knew everyone.

She was seated in the very back, not wanting to draw attention to herself - but it was impossible none the less. The attendants were regulars, so she stuck out like a sore thumb - and not just because she was new. As far as she looked, Molly seemed to be the only other black girl there, save for one family who were seated near the front.

Taking the smallest of sighs, she distracted herself from their gazes by looking at the stain glass windows and the images they depicted. Everywhere she looked, a shrine had been put in place for Jesus Christ.

It made her thankful she had never been vocal about her identity to anyone other than Cordelia, persecution and fame were the top two items on her 'certainly don't need right now' list.

When they had begun, she felt aglow with the hymns sung, the prayers and the passages from the bible read aloud. The entire experience was rather uplifting for her, even if it didn't provide her with an idea about how to stop Michael.

But alas, all good things must end, and this particular church came to a fiery one when the Priest was allowed time to talk about the current events.

Molly's soft smile had dimmed like a light when the topic of sexuality was approached, or rather, the demonisation of it. Suddenly, the walls and stained glass no longer looked beautiful to her, they were a trap - encaging her with conservatives who did not represent God and his values.

She had wanted to pounce from her seat, yell about how it was all lies and that the one true God was inclusive. That she knew this because he is her father. But the fear of persecution had overwhelmed her.

Molly found herself wondering what Michael would have done if he had been present, not that he would have come within ten feet of a church anyway. He would likely have rolled his eyes, laughed promptly in the Priest's face and made a snide remark. But that was Michael, and she was Molly.

And Molly couldn't take any more.

She rose up from her seat swiftly, shuffling harshly past the eagerly listening attendants in the same pew who glowered at her for the disruption. Molly had finally made it to the aisle, ready to leave this unholy place once and for all. But her disruption would not go ignored.

"Do you have a problem, Miss?" The Priest interrupted himself to ask, and Molly had suddenly found herself at the mercy of dozens of narrowed eyes, all glaring at her. They silently dared her to reply.

"I-I-..." she stuttered, clearing her throat nervously and clasping her hands together. "I disagree with what you're saying, and I don't want to attend mass in a place that preaches such hate."

"It's obviously your first time here as none of us recognise you, but you are free to leave if that's what you wish," he permitted, nodding his head and lifting his hand to direct towards the exit.

Molly turned on the spot and prepared to leave, but stopped. She may not have been put on this planet to cleanse it, but she'd be damned if she had to stay silent, too.

"By the way," she whirled around, her tone firmer, "if God had hated homosexuality and sexual fluidity so much, then why did he create all humans in his own image?"

The priests mouth dropped in offence, face turning red with anger as she turned and walked in the direction of the door, more confident in her step as she left an uproar behind in her wake.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE**

 **Hello! I hope everyone's enjoying so far!**

 **I also don't mean to cause any offence with the depiction of mass at the end, I was raised Catholic myself and I'm simply drawing on experiences I've had where hate-filled speeches are given by a priest. It's not to say all chapels/churches do this, but it's pretty realistic to say that one does.**

 **PS. The finale is out today and I'm going to bawl whether Michael lives or not because THIS IS HIS LAST EPISODE EITHER WAY. Cody Fern is an absolutely brilliant actor and this has been my favourite season by far.**

 **themoldylunchbox - Ahh! That makes me so happy! I hope it was a good one 3**

 **sheshe073 - I completely agree! They should have had 12/13 episodes, 10 were absolutely not enough. Especially since it's Michael's last episode like HE'LL NEVER BE ON THE SCREEN AGAIN. I'm gonna die. I can't wait either to get to the good stuff in the book ;) thanks for commenting! x**

 **PuffGirl1952 the 2nd - I'm definitely twisting stuff from the show, and the ending may be a little AU as well depending on how the show ends!**

 **Natattack - hello! That makes me so happy to hear you like it so far, it means the world and really encourages me! 3 I think Wattpad removed the email from your comment but if you see this, I hope you like this chapter! x**


	7. The Sight

**"THIS IS GOING TO BE A LONG NIGHT IF YOU'RE GOING TO IGNORE ME,"** Michael's voice crossed the room, meeting her ears and slightly muffling the sound through the blanket covering her ears.

She chose not to answer, hoping he'd think she's fallen out of their shared dreamscape. Going to sleep was something one often looked forward to after a tiring day, but Molly had come to absolutely abhor the activity. Simply because, Michael was often there too.

She had no idea why they would meet in their dreams, or how their brains were connected. Molly had guessed it was something she was subconsciously enforcing, due to the fact that she could cross into his room but he couldn't come near hers. Not that she ever would, again.

"I know you're awake, Molly," he continued with a chuckle, tossing a ball up into the air and catching it out of boredom. "You're not snoring, so it's easy to tell."

"I don't snore," she snapped, rolling her eyes and flinging the blanket off of her head, it was getting far too warm underneath it. "And even if I did, I highly doubt I snore in a _dream_."

"So you _were_ ignoring me," he beamed triumphantly, as if he had won something. Molly gave up ignoring him, unable to escape the dream and knowing full well he wasn't going to stop pestering her. She sat up in her bed, resting her back against the headboard and looking at him with a deadly glare.

"You want to talk?" She smirked suddenly, a thought coming to her mind that she would use against him. "Let's talk about how you tried to save me."

"I didn't try, nor need, to save you," his smile faded, now that the tables were turned on him. "You're the second coming of Christ. If all it took to kill you was a measly truck, then there was no point in you being born at all."

"You pushed me out of the way, still," she crossed her arms over her chest, raising a dark eyebrow. "Does it pain you to see people get hurt?"

At this, he barked a hearty laugh, as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard.

"Oh, Miss Second Coming, if you knew half as much as you pretended to you wouldn't be quite so entertaining."

"Stop calling me Second Coming," she huffed. "It sounds vaguely dirty coming from the mouth of the Antichrist."

"Why? Do you always come second?" He winked playfully, chuckling to himself again. Molly shuddered at his insinuation.

"Well I suppose that's why you're known as Satan's firstborn then, because you always come first," she fired back, cringing at her words as she spoke them and realised they didn't sound half as insulting inside her head. He laughed nonetheless.

"The Second Coming," he mused, resting his chin on his fist, his elbow on his knee as he sat in front of the mirror on the ground. "Did your almighty father not get it right the first time?"

"That's rich coming from the _Anti_ christ. Daddy dearest isn't all that original, is he?"

"When did you first start getting powers?" He asked suddenly, catching her off guard. Michael looked genuinely interested by what she had to respond, all traces of humour wiping off his face. She hesitated, wondering if she would be revealing too much by answering, but her own curiosity about his first experience won her over.

After all, there wasn't a being in the world like Molly. But if anyone came close to that level, it was Michael.

"Six," she revealed, "brought a dead guy back to life at his own funeral."

"Six?" He repeated, eyebrows furrowing.

"Yeah? What age were you?"

"Older than six," he replied gruffly, appearing somewhat offended all of a sudden.

"Late bloomer, huh? What happened your first time?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He teased, playing with her usage of the words 'first time'. "I made a ball fly across the room. With my mind."

"When was this?" She smirked. "Last week?"

"You may have been bringing the dead to life but my first kill was at the age of four, so don't flatter yourself," he fired back.

"Four?" She echoed, absolutely horrified. It was casual comments like this he would occasionally make that would snap her back to reality.

"I was born evil, sweetheart," he positively beamed, proud of his words and his revelations. "It's about time you realised that."

"And I was born good, what makes you so sure you're my superior?" She tensed up, mentally preparing for an argument if needs be.

"I don't," he shook his head, almost surprising her. "In fact, I think we're perfect equals. Exactly alike."

"I'm nothing like you," she defended in a low tone, swallowing harshly in disgust.

"You're exactly like me. I'd even hazard a guess that you're not entirely good, just like I wasn't entirely evil before my Black Mass." He slowly began to stand up, his hands resting on either side of the mirror as he grinned wickedly. "I have Ms Mead to remind me of my true self, but you have no one. And that is why you will fail. It's not that you're not powerful, it's that you're alone - with nobody by your side."

"You don't know anything about me," she scrambled out of bed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to contain her anger, marching towards the mirror. "So stop pretending that you do. I have had people by my side my whole life."

"Oh really?" He asked sarcastically. "A mother?"

Molly didn't answer.

"A father?"

Molly didn't answer.

"Any relative of any kind?"

Molly didn't answer.

"Friends?"

Again, Molly didn't answer. She briefly considered Cordelia and Zoe, but both women were _obligated_ to take care of her. Somehow she doubted that made them friends. An overwhelming wave of sadness washed over her, that made her doubt everything. This was the devil talking, the devil creeping into her head and whispering into her ear to make her doubt herself.

But that didn't mean the devil was wrong.

"What happened to your parents?" He questioned, his tone softer and audibly curious. She lifted her gaze from the spot on the floor she had focused on, meeting his eyes and biting the inside of her cheek to prevent from crying.

"I don't know," she answered with a shrug, further elaborating, "I don't know where they are." He tilted his head in confusion, but the last thing she wanted to do was tell him she was abandoned. Molly couldn't give him that satisfaction, she wouldn't.

"I can find out who they are," he offered, his tone sounding legitimate but his actual words sounding foreign, coming from him.

"Why would you want to do that, hm?"

"My father hated me and wanted nothing to do with me, and my mother tried to kill me. I believe that also makes me a member of the 'abandoned kids' club," he smiled half-heartedly. But there was something in his expression that completely took her by surprise, a flicker of sadness - one she recognised in herself.

It was also brief moments like this where she questioned Michael's inhumanity. Surely the Antichrist wouldn't have cared about two measly humans, his one true father was Satan and nothing would have mattered past that.

"How can you find out?" She pressed, trying not to sound eager.

"I have my ways," the corners of his lips turned up as he headed towards the desk in his room. Picking up a sheet of paper and a pencil, he brought the items back to the mirror and sat down in front of it, nodding for her to follow.

She sat down with her feet tucked underneath her, eyes following his every movement as he tried to make himself comfortable. When that was done, his eyes lifted from the paper to focus on her, making her fidget under the intensity of his gaze. After a few awkward moments of eye contact, his blue pupils suddenly turned a bright shade of white.

Curiously, she leaned in closer to the mirror, wondering what was happening, but then she heard the small scratch of pen against paper and she knew. Michael could _see_.

While Molly had received her visions in her dreams, Michael seemed to be able to induce context-specific images and scenes when prompted to. It was a rather shocking feat, for him to one-up her on psychic ability.

After a few seconds, Michael stopped drawing and his eyes flickered back to normal, his breathing accelerated as he panted softly. He looked down at the sheet beneath him with a small smile, before lifting it up and holding it in the air before her so she could see.

Tentatively, in case he should react or attack, she slipped her hand through the glass pane and took the sheet from him, bringing it back to her own side to inspect.

It was a woman, to be sure, appearing to be in her twenties. The lady was dark and strikingly beautiful, but also bore striking similarities to herself. Molly's hand slipped over her drawn nose and lips, tears welling in her eyes as she realised this was quite possibly the first and only time she'd ever see her mother.

Michael waited in silence for her to have her moment, patiently at that. He could tell how upset she was getting over the ordeal, and decided his teasing just wouldn't have amused him as much if she was in such a state.

"I couldn't see a father," he voiced after a few minutes. "I'd imagine that means you don't have one."

"What do you mean?" She asked with watering, widened eyes, shaky hands gripping the paper tightly.

"Wasn't your predecessor born to a virgin mother? Your dad likes to impregnate random women it seems."

"You expect me to think that after this there's not a shred of humanity in you," her voice was flat and low, eyes fixated on the woman's face. Suddenly, she didn't feel sad any more. Now, she felt rather angry. Her mother hadn't died, or anything similar to the sort. And still, she abandoned her like a newspaper on a doorstep.

Before he could reply to her taunt, Molly balled the piece of paper up in her hand and vaulted it through the mirror, it falling a few feet behind Michael. He turned around with a smirk, eyeing her with a strange expression.

"And you expect me to think that you're a saint when you so obviously harbour so much anger inside."

Molly could feel herself start to fade, meaning she was ready to wake up any second. With a resounding sigh of relief, she stood up and returned to her bed, thankful for the interruption so she wouldn't have to acknowledge what he said - or the truth of it.

* * *

She had listened to Constance's bickering for far too long, and after an unfulfilled trip to get the alcohol the previous day, Molly finally agreed to go on a shopping spree for the House's occupants. The second she had said yes, she immediately regretted it - as almost _everyone_ approached her to give her their demand.

Ben had wanted bourbon, rightfully so. Violet wanted more cigarettes, while Viven asked for a cinnamon roll - purely because she missed the taste. Tate had requested a box of chocolate-shaped hearts, for Violet presumedly, but Molly did not intend to assist him in trying to win back his ex-girlfriend. Not after all he had done. And she quite liked Violet, the two had grown closer in her time spent in the house.

There she was, lazily pushing a cart through the same supermarket aisles she fought Michael in days before, tossing things into the cart that a group of _ghosts_ asked for.

"We simply have to stop meeting like this," an upbeat voice resounded from behind her. Immediately, she rolled her eyes, choosing not to acknowledge Michael and instead reach for a box of Coco Pops, tossing them carelessly in. If she was probably going to die soon, she may as well get to spend her last few weeks, or months, living unhealthily.

"Ms Mead came down with something," he explained, although she hadn't asked. She sneaked a glance with the corner of her eye, seeing him read through a handwritten grocery list and scratching his head innocently. If she didn't know he was the root of all evil, she might have even dared say he looked adorable.

"Forgive me for not pitying the Satanist," she grunted, pushing the cart faster in an attempt to get away from him.

She should have known when she heard childish giggles behind her, but Molly still gasped when a tower of cereal boxes suddenly came tumbling down to the ground in front of her, blocking her path.

Molly whipped around to see Michael keeled over with laughter, clutching his stomach and shaking with amusement. She raised an eyebrow in challenge, eyes zeroing in on the bags of flour that were stocked closest to him.

Lifting her hand and flicking her index finger, at least ten bags suddenly exploded out of nowhere, encasing Michael in a heavy layer of white dust that immediately ceased his chuckling.

Before he could retaliate, she telepathically moved the boxes back onto the shelf and darted into the next aisle, half-running, but trying to hold herself from laughing. Her efforts were pointless, as every time the image replayed in her head she cackled even harder.

She was stopped once again by a sudden influx of products falling off the shelves and conveniently right into her trolley. Molly narrowed her eyes as she made out what the box said, and gasped afterward in surprise and humiliation. Michael had just flew about twenty boxes of condoms into her shopping cart. She could practically feel his amusement from the presence behind her, laughter booming throughout the supermarket.

At that very moment, a store clerk happened to enter that aisle, eyes immediately catching the sheer amount of condoms in Molly's cart. Her cheeks blushed a violent shade of red, stuttering over her words as she tried to explain, but he quickly left again before she could. This only made Michael laugh even harder.

"Okay, that's it!" She called out, noticing a display had been set up at the end of the aisle with about fifty soccer balls inside.

Smirking, she lifted both hands up, and one by one each ball floated towards Michael. Slowly at first, but then came quickly down to bounce off of his head. He was unable to block them, even using his arms to cover his head, but it was pointless as he still got bombarded.

Molly howled so hard she was sure her sides were split, nothing in her life ever having entertained her so much. When the balls stopped bouncing, they settled around him, like a tower encasing him inside.

He flicked his hair out of his eyes with a shake of his head, eyes narrowed at her. She worried for a second he'd end up fighting her again in the middle of the same store as before, but instead, he broke into laughter as well, starting up her own giggles once more.

"Excuse me," the same clerk from earlier interrupted their banter, crossing his arms rather disapprovingly. "I'm going to have to ask you both to leave."

Molly was still laughing when she reached the open air outside, and so was Michael. But when as soon as they stopped, a sudden awkwardness befell them both, and they wondered what to do next.

All they had ever done was try to kill each other when they saw each other. Or express some display of power, but this didn't feel like the right time to try and slay him again. And it was certainly not the right place.

Deciding to end their short-term camaraderie there, Molly nodded her head in goodbye before starting to walk backwards.

"I'm heading off," she explained, pointing over her shoulder. "See ya later, Antichrist."

"See you around, Second Comer." He waved his hand lightly, snickering to himself afterward. When she disappeared from sight completely, the small smile on his lips faded, and he was left with a sense of disappointment in himself.

This was his one true enemy, and he was wasting the chances he had to kill her on _bonding_ instead.

* * *

 **AUTHORS NOTE**

 **So... let's just all ignore that season finale shall we?**

 **SPOILERS FOR ANYONE WHO HASNT SEEN IT.**

 **I just... I loved the season don't get me wrong it's my favourite by far, and I even expected Michael to die but to die so brutally and by a CAR? It should have been an epic power battle between him and Mallory, but that's just my opinion. The season spent too long in the flashbacks stages, which I didn't mind because of the coven and Michael content but then the ending was completely rushed. Needless to say, this book may end up a little AU from the show.**

 **sheshe073 - So glad you're liking it so far! I completely agree, representation matters and excluded from a lot of fanfics. I hope you have a fabulous day and that you liked this chapter 3**


	8. The Satanists

**"YOU GOT..."** Molly trailed off, leaning over the board to inspect the dice she had just tossed forward. "Five."

"You're cheating!" Michael protested frustratedly, pointing his index finger against the glass pane of his mirror, still unable to cross through it.

"I have God on my side," she smirked sassily, taking the small metal car he had claimed was his piece and moving it forward five places, landing straight on the 'Go to Jail' section. She let out a sympathetic 'awe', pretending to feel sorry for him. "Hard luck, Michael!"

She lifted his little car straight across the board and settled it onto the 'Jail' picture.

The two had taken to playing Monopoly on a particularly extended dream session, to pass the time if nothing else. But as Michael was unable to cross into her room, and Molly wouldn't trust him enough to go to his, the game was mainly played by herself, who would move the pieces for him according to his direction.

"I can't even see the dice! How am I supposed to believe you!" He continued angrily, throwing his hands into the air like a child before crossing them over his chest.

"I think lying goes against my entire existence," she rolled her eyes in amusement. This wasn't the first of his flip-outs since their game started. Little did he know, that Molly had been playing the game with the girls at the academy since she arrived at the age of six. She wasn't only experienced, but a master.

To her surprise, Michael admitted he had never played it. His grandmother believed she was too old to engage in 'silly games'.

"I'm not playing any more," he huffed, looking away from the mirror.

"Oh, come on!" She whined, shuffling forward with a chuckle and shoving the board to the side. "But I'm _winning_!"

"Only because you're cheating!" He shouted back stubbornly, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed at her.

"You know, for the antichrist you really are a giant child," she shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Well I'm legally eight, so that's no surprise," he scoffed.

"Oh my god," she gasped quietly, suddenly interested in his ramblings. "You're eight?"

"Yeah, but I've been aged by my experiences," he nodded seriously, and Molly stifled a chuckle. It suddenly all began to make sense to her.

"But _I'm_ eight!" She revealed, an undertone of excitement in her voice. His aloof demeanour faltered slightly.

"Really?" He asked, visibly relaxing. "So _it_ happened to you as well?"

"Yeah, I guess," she nodded, "one day I was seven. The next, I wake up and I look about a decade older."

"That happened to me too," his eyes were curiously wide, regarding upon her closely as if inspecting to see if she still held any childish qualities. "My grandma got quite the scare."

"I wonder why it happened," she mused, "maybe you aged because I did? Or vice versa? Or the great fight needed to happen sooner? Delia couldn't figure it-" she cut herself off at the mention of her former guardian, inwardly cursing herself.

"Delia?" He questioned, not overlooking it as she wished he would have.

"The... headmistress, at the orphanage I lived at," she elaborated. He nodded, seeming to understand, what confused her was that he looked slightly saddened by the idea she grew up in such a place. Even he wasn't immune to the horror stories about children who grew up in such places. But Molly wasn't one of them.

Of course, she couldn't tell him the truth. That she lived with a coven of witches in an academy.

"You've met my grandma haven't you?" He asked out of the blue, his usual playful demeanour shrinking to a shy one.

"Yes, why?"

"Does she... does she ever mention me? Or anything?"

Molly's breathing hitched slightly at his question. Of course, Constance had mentioned Michael rather often. But never with a kind word or a reminiscent smile, which is exactly what he wanted to hear. She debated with herself on whether or not she should tell him that yes, his grandmother thinks of him and hates his guts. Or answer no, tell him Constance hasn't mentioned him.

She decided to withhold the truth, and realised that she had contradicted herself in saying 'lying went against her very existence', because it was all she seemed to do around Michael.

"I haven't spoken to her much," she answered finally, "so, no. Sorry."

"Okay," he nodded, allowing his expression to falter for a second before hardening up again instantly. "Oh well, I have my Ms Mead now anyways. She was a better mother to me than Constance ever was."

Molly stayed silent, for she didn't have anything nice to say about the Satanic-worshipping woman, and therefore wouldn't say anything.

"The satanist is a better woman than the Christian, how about that?" He smirked, teasing her now.

"Just because Constance says she is a Christian does not make her good, she will still go to Hell for her previous actions."

"Well the entry to Heaven is so exclusive these days, I'm shocked anyone gets to make it."

"The world has become a dark place," Molly concluded, with a grim expression.

"So don't you think it's time to wipe the slate clean?" He grinned wickedly.

"If you mean by getting rid of the devil's grip on the world, then yes," she challenged. He stared at her for a moment, brown eyes meeting blue and holding. She could have quivered under the intensity of his gaze, and reminded herself again that there was great irony in the son of Satan being born as the most handsome man she had ever seen.

He was entirely alluring.

"No need to be so dramatic, Christ," he let out a sudden laugh, his tenseness fading away. Out of boredom, he picked up the small ball he often played with, and threw it forward towards the mirror.

They both expected it to bounce off the glass, straight back into his lap, but to both of their shock it travelled straight through. The ball landing somewhere behind her.

They stared at each other again, full of surprise and wonder, before the corner of his mouth lifted up.

"Well, how about that. Your barrier is starting to crumble."

* * *

"Where is our little devil?" Samantha beamed excitedly, practically jumping on the spot as she scrambled past Mead to get inside of her house. She looked all around her, hoping to catch another glimpse of the saviour.

Anton smiled politely, and instead _waited_ for permission to enter. Although, Mead didn't miss the way his eyes scanned the room for any sign Michael was here, too.

"He's not here, he's off frolicking," she explained with a wave of her hand, heading off towards the dining table to sit down, gesturing for them to follow. "Which is exactly why I've called you here."

"What is it, Miriam?" Anton asked, getting straight to the point as he sat down across from her, next to Samantha. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes," her eyes narrowed, clasping her hands together. "And it's a big one, the size of a teenage girl."

"Ah," Samantha raised her eyebrows, the ever present smile on her lips growing. "Has our little antichrist found a girl to lay with?"

"I wish," Mead snorted, considering Michael's sexuality to be the least of her problems. "It seems our greatest enemy has come packing a weapon with a punch. And it poses a problem."

"Our greatest enemy," Anton repeated, pondering. "As in, the police?"

"Worse," she rolled her eyes, practically spitting the word. " _Christians._ "

At this revelation, he barked a laugh, and it wasn't long before Samantha was snorting beside him.

"What could the Christians possibly have that would worry us? Bible bashers?" He joked, barking out another laugh.

"Honestly, Miriam," Samantha cooed, "you're a comedian."

"How about the second coming of Christ?" She spoke louder, cutting off their laughter as she tensed in frustration from their amusement. Their smiles faded slowly, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as a result.

"Christ?" Anton echoed.

"Christ," she confirmed. "And it's not a thirty-something man in the Middle East, it's a plucky little teenage girl who can do a lot more than change water into wine."

"How powerful are we talking?" Samantha enquired, turning serious, as she always did when the situation called for it.

"I'd say, judging by the amount of times they've tried to kill each other and both failing, they're pretty evenly set," she let out an angry sigh, resenting the Christian God for his 'gift' to the world.

"It's nothing we cannot handle," Anton nodded, appearing confident with himself. "She'll be expecting you or Michael, she won't jump to defend herself against us."

"You read my mind," Miriam chuckled evilly. She could see as each day passed, the less passionate Michael became about killing her. A sure sign that the two were meeting in private, somewhere and sometime.

* * *

"So, you're having trouble killing the Antichrist," Ben began, his notepad out and a pen poised to take notes.

His patient for today, for a change, was a live one. A restless Molly Cromwell lay down on the couch opposite Ben, who was to be her appointed psychologist today. It was by his own suggestion, when the others in the house were beginning to speculate why Michael was still alive and walking.

"Yes," she sighed, clapping her palm over her forehead exasperatedly.

"Is he... stronger? Or?" Ben trailed off, already at a loss before their session had even truly begun. Molly was a unique patient, in that she was quite literally a child of God himself. He was treading carefully with his questions, this feeling totally foreign to him.

"No," she denied quickly, eyebrows furrowing in offence. "He's not _stronger_."

"Then why can't you kill him?"

"I just..." she stopped, flopping her hand down and sitting up abruptly, appearing mildly distressed as she rested her elbows on her thighs and avoided his eyes. "I've never killed anyone before."

"Surely this should feel different? You were born for this."

"Okay, well it doesn't, alright?" She snapped, anxiously fiddling with the ends of her hair. "It doesn't feel different. The more we talk the less I'm convinced he's entirely evil, and the more human he becomes in my eyes."

"Ah," Ben spoke, nodding his head. "You don't _want_ to kill him."

"No," she admitted, entirely shamed by her revelation.

"That's perfectly natural," he reasoned, "in your eyes, Michael's just another teenager with psychopathic tendencies. I thought the same thing. Not to mention, once he dies your time on earth is over as well. It's natural to feel hesitation."

"Then what do you suggest?" She sighed. "Because I see him every night, it's not like I can avoid him."

"My suggestion is that you force yourself to see the reality of the situation, Michael _isn't_ just a boy. And you're not just a girl. He was put on this earth to destroy it, and the longer you allow him to stay alive the closer he gets to achieving that," Ben finished, his words harsh but true. Molly swallowed thickly, nodding her head despite her blatant disagreement. There _was_ a human aspect of Michael, just like there was within her. Things weren't as black and white as Ben tried to picture for her.

Before she could answer, she was saved by the ring of the doorbell, despite it being a rare occurrence. Molly's eyes snapped to Ben's, who rolled his own in annoyance, expecting it to be another kid who was acting upon a dare.

The dare being to knock on the door of Murder House.

Nevertheless, Molly stood up and trailed towards the door, squaring up her shoulders when she saw two figures through the stained glass. Two very _adult_ figures.

"Um, hello?" She politely greeted upon opening the door, eyes scanning over the middle aged duo in front of her. A man and a woman - all dressed in black, with a bald head and cropped black hair respectively. She didn't recognise them, but her senses immediately told her to shut the door.

"Hello!" The lady responded, her hand shooting up out of nowhere and pressing down on the top of an aerosol can. Before Molly could react, a blindingly hot substance was being sprayed into her eyes, causing them to burn viciously.

The young girl shouted in pain, hands coming up to cup over her fiery eye sockets as whimpers fell from her lips. She flung her hands out in an attempt at defending herself, but they had snuck behind while she was temporarily blinded to deliver a blow to the back of her head.

Anton smirked as he lowered the shotgun, the second coming crumpling to the ground in a heap. He shared a brief glance with Samantha, smirks evident on their lips before he raised the gun again, cocking it.

"You can't hit a girl, you bum!" Violet materialised out of thin air, one of her mother's prized China plates in hand as she swung it around and smacked it against Anton's head. It shattered to pieces, and caused him to double over in pain.

The distraction was long enough for Molly to recover from both the hit and the pepper spray, her enhanced body fighting against it as she swung onto her feet and flew her hands in the air.

An inexplicable anger had overtaken her, borne out of fear and provocation. She was _tired_ of people walking over her, of thinking they could take her on. These two, she _knew_ to be Satanists - she could practically smell the stench of it on them. Perhaps they had been sent by Michael himself, which was partly the reason for her anger snap. Despite being his one true enemy, and him hers, she couldn't ignore the sense of betrayal.

The anger bubbled up through her arms, dividing itself amongst her palm and fingers to send a surge of energy directed towards the two who had arrived at her door.

By merely closing her hands into balled fists, the sheer magnitude of the power she was releasing was enough to begin separating their bodies from within each other. Joints splintered, muscles divided, skin was stretched and within seconds - Anton and Samantha had exploded, blood splatters and a pink mist in their wake.

Horrified and exhausted, Molly dropped to her knees, feeling nauseous by the sensation of blood settling on her dark skin. Tears welled in her eyes out of fear, not for who they were and what intentions they had, but for what she had just done.

"Holy shit," Violet whispered, backing away from the scene with widened eyes. Tearfully, Molly lifted her head to look at the girl.

"I-I didn't know that was inside of me..." she whispered, ready to burst into sobs at any minute. "Please don't hate me."

"I.. I don't hate you," Violet denied. "It was you or them. They came here to kill you."

But Molly could sense Violet's true emotions. Which may not have been hatred, but was still something else as equally dark - _she was scared_.

Without saying another word, Molly closed her eyes shut and disappeared, keeping her next destination in mind and she transmuted herself there.

* * *

 _ **I get so excited to include the murder house characters. 2011 me is shining.**_

 _ **I hope everyone liked this chapter, I want Michael and Molly's development to be slow so these chapters will be focusing on the bond forming between them 3**_

 _ **Thanks everyone who read and/or reviewed the previous one!**_

 _ **SkippingThrough - I'm so glad you think so! I was worried people would think it's out of character or anything, but they're just teenagers at the end of the day and don't just spend their time trying to kill each other. Thanks so much for commenting!**_

 _ **sheshe073 - That makes me so happy! I hope you enjoyed this one too x**_

 _ **TheMoldyLunchbox - Glad to hear it aha! Thank you!**_

 _ **Vivi H88 - Thank youuuu! I hope you like what's to come and have a wonderful day 3**_


	9. The Deadliest Sin

**MOLLY DIDN'T HESITATE WHEN SHE ARRIVED AT THE MEAD RESIDENCE.**

All of her pre-instilled manners and patience were long gone, and in its place, was a frantic girl trying to shut out the image of the previous scene from her head. When her body transmuted, she had first appeared in the porch of Mead's house. How she knew where exactly that was, she wasn't sure - perhaps Molly simply knew where Michael would be located. It was as if a string had been tied between them, always tugging them closer together.

Instead of politely knocking on the wood, Molly raised her hand and telekinetically flung the door open, stepping through the frame with a furious step in her walk.

At the sound of her entry, Mead appeared around the corner from the kitchen, her ever present frown deepening at the sight of the woman in the hallway. But Molly didn't miss the twitch of her brows, she didn't expect her to be _alive_.

"What do you think-" Mead began angrily, her words cut off by Molly's powers stretching again. This time, directed at the older woman instead, in causing her to fly backwards until her back hit the wall.

"Where is he?" She demanded, stepping closer towards her until their chests almost touched. She made sure not to harm the woman nonetheless, simply holding her in place - Molly couldn't take killing another person, much less in the same day.

"I don't think that's going to be necessary," his voice sounded through the house, Molly's head snapped over to see the boy himself standing in the hallway. He appeared equal parts intrigued to equal parts angry, for as much as he loathed that she would _dare_ touch Mead, he couldn't help but be fascinated by her display of anger.

Immediately, Molly dropped her hold on the woman, allowing her to fall onto the ground in a heap to regain composure.

She turned to face Michael completely, shaking her head in disdain. The blood that had spurted upon her face was beginning to dry up and crust, and she was all too aware of it.

"I have to say," Michael began, being the one to take a few steps towards her and bridge the gap, "this is a rather becoming look on you. Seething with anger, coated in blood. I think it's my favourite-"

"I didn't think cowardice was a trait the spawn of Satan would be proud to flaunt," she cut him off, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Michael's expression contorted with confusion.

"What is that supposed to mean, now?"

"Sending your loyal Satanist followers to kill me instead of doing it yourself," she answered, blinking desperately as she sensed tears rising in her eyes. The shock of the incident was beginning to wear away, and now she was only left with all-encompassing guilt.

Molly was supposed to be divine - the truest being on the planet, and she had just committed the most deadly sin.

 _Murder_.

Michael still appeared confused, which enraged her. Eerily, he reached his hand out, slowly inching his finger towards her face until it touched her cheek. She recoiled, but he kept the contact in place, dragging it down a little until some of the still-damp blood coated his fingertip.

His eyes snapped closed as he mentally analysed it, being able to see a mental image of who the blood belonged to and how it was shed.

He recognised the duo immediately, after all - how could he not? They were two of the three people responsible for his rise to accepting his identity. He didn't feel much particular loss by their deaths, if anything, he even enjoyed watching it play in his mind. The rage and fear he sensed within Christ fuelled him, and he could taste the sweet goodness in her aura that could only have meant she committed a sin.

He _revelled_ in it.

As he soaked in the sensation of satisfaction, the creeping realisation of the situation rose again; prompting him to look at his guardian over her shoulder.

Mead was smirking breathlessly as she held her hand against the wall and scrambled back onto her feet. It was obvious she sent her fellow satanists to kill Molly, completely ignoring the chain of command and his own wishes. She made him appear _weak_ by assuming that _she_ was.

"If I wanted to kill you, I'd have done it myself," he finally decided upon saying, returning his gaze to the girl who's eyes looked positively haunted by her experience. At his words, they narrowed.

"If you wanted to?" She murmured, leaving a question in her words. He caught on immediately, and decided it would have been best to leave it unanswered.

"Why don't you go and take a shower, Molly?" He suggested, baffling both her and Mead. She wondered briefly if it was a trap, but she had proved to herself earlier that day she could handle it if it was. "The bathroom is-"

Before he got the chance to tell her, she had disappeared again, and as he was unable to sense her he imagined it was back to her own house.

He flexed his jaw now that she was gone, his calm demeanour and small smile fading immediately as he regarded upon Mead.

"Goddamn it, she'd have killed them no doubt," she complained, throwing her hands into the air in frustration.

"What possessed you to go against me?" His tone was cold, taking her by surprise.

"Go against you?" She echoed. "I was trying to get rid of the problem. _Your_ problem."

"You made me look weak," he thundered, jaw clenched. "Did you really think two mere mortals would be enough? She may not be the strongest thing alive, but she's certainly not the weakest."

"Michael, you can't seriously-"

"Don't ever go behind my back, again " he warned, shaking his head. Mead didn't answer, shocked by his demand into silence. She had never been at the brunt end of his words, only ever seeing him talk down to others. But never her.

Michael chose to walk away at that moment, returning to his room. He should have sensed her before he stepped inside, but was still surprised to spot her, sitting on his bed and completely clean from blood.

She appeared broken, frail almost, which wasn't an appearance he saw often on the Second Coming.

Molly had crossed her arms over chest tightly, looking around the room with a vague sense of familiarity. She had seen it almost nightly, of course, but never from the other side.

Michael turned and closed the door softly, deciding instantly that he didn't want Mead to know she was here. He made a move towards the bed, sitting down beside her. It was awkward, no doubt, and no amount of teen or antichrist movies he watched could help him with the situation.

It turns out that the Second Coming of Christ and the Antichrist having a difficult time killing each other was a rare feat.

"I never killed anything before," she mumbled softly, eyes staring ahead.

"Ever?" Michael asked in mild surprise, perhaps murder had become so second nature to him that to think a person had never committed it was appalling. He was raised by a grandmother who had killed his grandfather and mistress, and was now currently under the wing of what some would call a serial killer.

"Never," she admitted. "I think I messed up pretty bad by doing it. It goes against everything I stand for."

"The deadliest of sins," he agreed, noticing how she winced thereafter and decided to speak more softly towards her. "But it was self defence, was it not?"

"Well... yeah," she sniffed, "but I know that I could have stopped them another way. I was strong enough to restrain them."

"Let's put it this way," he began, turning to her. It suddenly dawned on Michael that he never had a girl in his bedroom before. Or anyone other than a guardian, really. "If two Christians came to my doorstep to try and murder me, do you think I would spare them?"

"That's completely different," she disputed with a sigh. "You're the antichrist. Nobody expects better of you."

"I think we're a lot more similar than you realise," he revealed, eyes scanning over her saddened expression. "You think we're so different, but really, we're actually quite alike. And that's why you hesitate to kill me."

"I could-"

"Then do it," he prompted, knowing exactly what she was about to say - for they had both said it enough times each. "If you can, why don't you?"

"Be-because..." she stammered, refusing to look at him, but he wasn't taking that. Standing up swiftly, Michael dropped to a crouch in front of her, giving Molly no choice but look him in the eye. "Because you're not the _Antichrist_ to me."

"Then what am I?"

"You're Michael Langdon," she drew in a shaky breath. "You're the boy who was abandoned by everyone he knows, and isn't evil enough to not care about it. You make jokes at my expense and try to see me as often as you can, but you don't want to kill me any more than I want to kill you."

His expression became rather stony, his lips curled in as if he had tasted something rather sour, but the only sour thing was her honest words. For as honest as they were, they weren't far from the truth either.

"You're placing an awful lot of trust in that theory," he defended, trying to regain some composure.

"Is it because we're so similar, as you say? Because you have no one else who understands the burden of our births?"

"Stop," he demanded, this time - he was the one avoiding her eyes. But she listened, knowing when the right and wrong time was to push his buttons.

"It doesn't matter anyway," she whispered, dropping the matter. "I'm a monster."

"No," he refuted, confusing himself as he tried to comfort her. "You're not. If anything, I'm the monster."

"You wanna know what's kind of funny about it?"

"What?"

"Before now... with all of our dreamscapes and stuff... I was actually starting to see you a friend," she chuckled off the end of her sentence. "Crazy right?"

"Yeah," he said, but the small smile lifting up his lips told otherwise.

He never _had_ a friend.

* * *

Molly had fallen asleep eventually, right on his own bed. Michael wanted to let her lay there, not disturb her peacefulness after her chaotic day. But he ultimately decided she would want to wake up in the comfort of her own bed, not in the one belonging to her friend/arch enemy.

Gently scooping his hands under her back and legs, he hauled her up, thanking his supernatural strength for the lift his skinny arms would never have been able to carry out. He internally begged her not to wake up, not to see him in this compromising position.

Michael had made a silent promise to never step inside the _house_ again. The bad memories - particularly those involving feelings of rejection and pain, were all too horrible to think of, much less see in person. But for Molly, he was willing to take the risk.

He had hoped that they would fear him, and not come near him as he transmuted into his old bedroom. As far as he could see, the room was empty, allowing him to place the second coming down onto the bed carefully.

When settled, he allowed himself to remark upon her features. There was no denying her beauty, as if she were touched by god herself - and she probably was.

"She's not going to love you, you know," a voice cut through from the doorframe that caused the antichrist's body to stiffen immediately.

Michael slowly turned around to face the one man who had the power to make or break him in seconds - his biological father.

Tate stood in the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame with a blank expression. He watched the scene quietly, and with disinterest. He was quite possibly the only one brave enough to come near Michael.

"I don't want her to," Michael quietly denied, standing up straight and preparing to leave.

"Don't you?" Tate pushed. "I'm just warning you man, this isn't gonna be one of those romantic comedies where the jerk-hole guy gets the sweet, innocent girl."

"What makes you think I'd want anything to do with her?" He spoke through gritted teeth.

"Ah," he chuckled, "I suppose you're setting her softly down to bed because you wanna see what bed sheets she has, right? That girl has got you locked in her heart shaped box."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Michael refuted, struggling to keep his voice low with an unconscious Molly behind him.

"I have an idea, if you want her to like you, of course," Tate dramatically started to tap his finger on his chin. When an idea came to mind, he pointed his finger towards the ceiling, "just let her kill you!"

The cold sting of rejection pricked at his neck, leaving a wash of embarrassment and pain flooding his body. Michael hated how much his father's opinion mattered, even after everything.

Before he could hear any more, he left the house. And for the second time in his life, swore to never come back.

It was then he realised that he had to stay away from Molly completely. For she may have committed something evil today, but he had just done something good for _her_.

* * *

 _ **I hope this chapter wasn't that cheesy, I woke up this morning because I usually write at night and thought some people might cringe ahaha, but I hope you like it! It won't be long before the actual storyline comes in, but I really want to develop their "friendship" before everything with the warlocks.**_

 _ **Thanks for reading!**_

 _ **Vivi H88- Thanks so much! x**_

 _ **sheshe073 - IT WAS VERY SATISFYING WRITING IT, ESPECIALLY WHEN VIOLET LANDED IN**_

 _ **Sacrecrow - That's such a compliment wow! Thank you! I hope you like this update and whats to come! xx**_

 _ **aki-blood-dark-princess - I'm busier than a store on christmas eve but I finally find time to write this ahah, took a couple days but here you go!**_

 _ **mo-rizzle - That means the world, honestly. Thank you so much for your comment and I hope you like the story's direction!**_


	10. Ticket to Heaven

**MOLLY CROMWELL WAS CONFUSED.** In fact, she was downright bothered. And the fact she was bothered at all confused her even more.

There had been a shift in her relationship with Michael Langdon, painfully so - and it was in the complete opposite direction than she intended. Molly had went to his house after her encounter with the Satanists with the intentions of ending their Cold War once and for all; with his death.

But once she arrived and saw that he hadn't sent the Satanists to kill her, she lost that fury and drive against him. It was as if her anger that day had been so explosive, that when it calmed it completely sucked out any remnant of negativity.

She no longer looked at Michael as an enemy. In fact, she hated to admit she rather enjoyed their talks. It interested her to no end to talk with someone who was born to be her antithesis, but still managed to share the same life experiences as her. Well, ones that didn't end in fire and blood.

She thought that maybe she was wearing him down too. The more they saw each other, she could see his malice diminish further until now when they met eyes, he would often smile. And every time he smiled, he looked like an angel sent from the heavens like she was. Never had she ever felt more conflicted in her life.

But that was until he had stopped showing up in her dreams.

It was rather ironic, she had spent weeks trying to ignore him in their shared dreamscape. But now that he had vanished completely, she found she actually missed him. Molly even went out of her way to visit the grocery store often,hoping he'd be there. But she always knew the second she reached the doors that the pulsating energy he gave off from miles away wasn't radiating, meaning he wasn't there.

After a week, Molly had enough. She was bored to the brink of tears, which was saying something for someone born with the patience of a saint. Literally, speaking.

The last person on the planet she wanted to see was Ms Mead, but there would be no escaping that if she wanted to talk to Michael. Molly didn't feel like being rude and transmuting herself into his bedroom.

With a hesitant sigh, she politely knocked on the front door, it opening seconds later to reveal a sour looking Mead.

"What do you want, Jesus?" She rolled her eyes, planting herself in the gap between the door frame and the door.

"Christ would have been a more suitable nickname, but I get what you meant. Is Michael here?" She asked, knowing too well that he was. She could already tell.

"Yeah," he appeared in the hall, a blank expression on his face as he regarded upon her. Mead turned to look at him with cautious eyes, but he quickly nodded his head for her to leave, walking up to the entrance when it was clear. "What do you want?"

She was slightly taken aback by his tone, dripping with hatred and disgust - much like it did when they first encountered each other.

"Haven't seen you in a week," she decided to play it off, a small smile tilting up her lips. "Had to make sure nobody else had killed you off before I got the chance to."

"Well if I was dead, you'd be in fucking Heaven mixing cocktails with your brother Jesus, so I doubt that," he bit back with a snarky voice, leaning against the doorframe.

"What's wrong with you?" She narrowed her eyes, her features tightening. Michael's eyes visibly softened upon noticing the offence she took to his demeanour.

"I don't know. I didn't want to see you in my dreams so now I just don't," he shrugged, avoiding looking at her.

"Oh," she said simply, casting her eyes down. Admittedly, it felt like a harsher blow than it should have.

She tried to tell herself that her newfound comfortableness with Michael was down to the fact she felt rather alone in California. Aside from the house's ghosts, there wasn't anyone for her to talk to. Aside from their first meeting, he hadn't been particularly cruel to her. More annoying than anything else.

"Missed me did you?" He teased, his shoulders relaxing. He cursed himself internally for it.

Michael had told himself over and over the next time he saw Molly he would be cruel, unfriendly and unforgiving. But now she was standing in his doorway, her dark eyes widening and he decided he didn't particularly _like_ hurting her feelings.

"I'd miss you about as much as a bullet in the brain," she rolled her eyes playfully.

"That could be arranged," he bantered in return with her, the two falling back into their usual camaraderie.

"Well," she coughed awkwardly as the conversation died, suddenly feeling embarrassed for having shown up. "Like I said, was just making sure nobody else got you before I did."

"Sure, Molly," he smirked widely. "You couldn't kill me if you wanted to. And you don't even want to."

"I don't know what would give you that assumption," she shook her head, unable to fight off her grin of amusement as she closed her eyes and took her body away from the scene, reappearing again with the same smile in a different place.

* * *

"Violet, _please_!" Tate's voice called from the doorway, his expression contorted with frustration as he practically begged the blonde to give in. His attempts were futile, and fell on deaf ears. For Violet could neither see nor hear Tate as per her own request.

But Molly could.

The two girls sat on her bed, talking animatedly about their lives and experiences. Every so often, Tate would talk over Molly's voice, completely throwing her off and causing her to stop mid-speech several times.

After his fourteenth attempt at making Violet listen to him, and effectively cutting Molly off, the girl in question rolled her eyes and huffed.

"He's here, isn't he?" She said knowingly, raising her eyebrows at Molly who nodded silently. "The answer is _no_ , Tate! Go away!"

In a flurry of anger, he turned and smacked his fist against the doorframe before disappearing down the hallway, finally giving them peace.

"I wish there was a way I could turn him off too," Molly shook her head in amusement, playing with her fingers as she lay back down on the mattress. Violet propped her elbow up and rested her head in her hand.

"It's so hard, you know? I thought he'd give up after the first few months but it's been _years_ ," she sighed, running a hand through her hair.

"I can make him move on if you want," Molly offered, trying to cheer her up. "He'll go to hell like, but oh well."

"Thanks anyway," she sniggered, eyes turning to gaze at the now empty doorframe. "Can I be honest with you?"

"I'd rather if you were always honest," Molly replied in confusion. "Wait, are you ever _not_ honest?"

"You know what I mean," the ghost rolled her eyes. "I think that... I think I'd hate it if he did stop trying. I can't ever forgive him, I know that. But I don't want to think about a time where he stops waiting for me."

"You don't want him to move on," Molly nodded, smiling pitifully.

"I know that makes me a horrible person, to love someone so horrible... but-" she stopped herself, shaking her head. "I just can't help it."

Molly stayed silent, her thoughts racing as she considered what it would be like to be in Violet's position. To love someone that was so dastardly, uncontrollably. Without meaning to, her mind travelled to Michael. She supposed it would be like if Molly had fallen for him. Not that it was something she'd ever do.

There was seven deadly sins, but falling for the devil's off-spawn was pissing all over her ticket to heaven.

"Don't worry," Violet shrugged, "I wouldn't go back to him. Unless... unless like you thought it was... a good idea?"

Violet waited for Molly's reaction, and when she received it in the form of her eyes widening, quickly backtracked.

"Hah! Got you!" She laughed nervously. "As if I would ever! Tate? I mean come on, wow you fell for that one!"

"Thank the lord above," Molly chuckled, rolling to rest on her stomach. "You had me worried for a second."

"Hypothetically then," Violet nodded rapidly, "so that would be a bad idea, right?"

"Violet he raped your mom and killed like... what- half a dozen people?" Molly's nose scrunched in disgust. "I mean... I've never been in a relationship but I'm not sure shooting up a school is a good extracurricular activity I look for in a potential partner."

"You're right..." Violet sighed sadly, looking down at her hands. Feeling guilty for her honesty, Molly shuffled toward her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"You'll be okay, Violet," she whispered, leaning into her. "Promise."

"I hope so," she sniffled. "Hey, what happened to Jesus being all forgiving?"

"For the final time," she rolled her eyes, letting go of the blonde. "I'm _not_ Jesus!"

Violet laughed at her indignation, cheering up visibly at their conversation. All of a sudden, her eyes brightened as a thought came to mind.

"So, what about my devilish little half brother?" She pried, confusing Molly."

"What about him?" She shrugged, shuffling away.

"Well," Violet began, "you came here pretty intent on killing him. And it's been like... what a month? Two?"

"It's just proving to be a little more difficult," Molly played off.

"I doubt that. I'm willing to bet you're finding it a little difficult _wanting_ to kill him," she teased, causing Molly's eyes to widen. "You can't even deny it, because I listened in to you and my dad's therapy session."

"Woah!" Molly reeled, "first of all, I'm pretty sure that's breaking some kind of confidentiality law."

"Ah yes," she drawled sarcastically. "Because my number one concern as a ghost stuck in this house is the police coming to arrest me."

" _Second of all_ ," she grumbled, "just because I'm having difficulty murdering someone doesn't mean I'm soft for him or anything." Violet's eyes widened excitedly, her finger lifting to point at the other girl.

"Aha! I never even mentioned going soft for him," she smirked.

"What!" Molly spluttered in embarrassment. "You implied it!"

"Oh did I?"

"Yes!"

Violet hummed, choosing not to answer but the smirk she wore on her lips said everything she needed to say. Molly reached for the pillow next to her and vaulted it through the air, gleaming when it hit its target, which was Violet's face.

"You so like him," she rolled her eyes. "Like dude, he's my half brother and I'd have killed him before he could learn to say 'Hail Satan'."

"It's not as easy as all that," Molly shrugged. "Being divine has its drawbacks."

"Oh yeah, because that bloody mess in the hall Mom had to clean up was the epitome of your divine nature," Violet rolled her eyes.

"I don't like him, Violet. I'm pretty sure I'd go straight to hell if that were the case."

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know," she groaned, smacking her hands over her eyes to hide them. "Maybe I'm the one that's not ready to die too. Our lives are connected - if he dies, I die."

"Shit... really?" She whispered, looking suddenly upset. In truth, the Harmon daughter had grown to like having Molly around. The only people close to her age in this house was Tate, which was a no go, and Hayden - the woman who slept with her father. Molly was a breath of fresh air, and she didn't want to lose her so quickly.

* * *

"Told you I'd be back," a smug voice cut through the room the second Molly opened her eyes, the familiar hazy atmosphere of her dreams meeting her gaze. Trying to not appear eager, she refrained from bolting out of bed by taking her time and raising herself up, eyes immediately fixating on the blonde boy sat on the other side of the mirror pane.

"Darn it," she rolled her eyes playfully, getting out of bed to trail towards the mirror. "Just when I thought I'd gotten rid of you."

"What can I say, it's exciting being around someone like you. I never know if you're about to hug me or rip my heart out." His words were meant as a joke, but they only added to Molly's frustrations - which had seemingly crossed between both conscious and unconscious worlds.

"How about neither?" She raised an eyebrow, flopping down to sit with her legs tucked underneath her.

"Are you finally backing down and acknowledging me as the superior?" He asked, slightly confused by her casual demeanour.

"No," she huffed. "I'm just saying, why do we need to kill each other? You were born to end the world, and I was born to end you. Why must we both fulfil those roles?"

"Because..." he stammered, "because it's what we were born to do. It's why we're here."

"I know," she backtracked, "I just think it's stupid. If you didn't try to end the world, I wouldn't have to kill you."

"Is that something you don't want to do?" He pressed, eyes boring into hers with hope she would genuinely answer and not play it off as a joke. Molly played with her fingers, taking a whole minute to respond before letting out a low mumble.

"No."

"Why?" He continued, unsure why her answer affected him so much.

"Because I just... I just don't want to kill you when I know you can realise this isn't the right thing to do. I don't think you're completely evil, and I'm not saying I could save you, I'm saying I wouldn't explicitly have to kill you if you would just not hurt people."

Michael was silent at this. Realistically speaking, he didn't know if he _could_ stop hurting others. Murder came as natural to him as breathing and he didn't think he'd have been able to completely cut it off.

But then there was the flip side - where he could agree to the terms and when she trusted him most, he could kill her. But just as much as she struggled with his death, he struggled with the idea of hers.

He enjoyed their talks. Enjoyed how truly opposite they were but that they still found something to talk about. If he was being completely honest with himself, he enjoyed their time together more than he should have.

"I don't know if I can," he whispered, emotion building inside of him. "Everyone's depending on me. My father - the world... without this I am nothing."

"You're not nothing," she insisted, crawling closer to the transparent glass. "You're Michael Langdon, the boy who grew up with his grandmother. You could use your powers for something that didn't hurt others. You could be a doctor, or a flying trapeze artist or even a magician. If you end the world, then what? You go back to Hell to live out eternity without ever having truly experienced life?"

"Is that what that is?" He snapped his head up. "You don't want me to die, so _you_ don't have to die."

"That's not all of it, but can you blame me?" Her voice suddenly dropped to barely even a whisper, tears forming in her eyes. "Michael, I'm practically still a kid. I don't... I don't want to die.."

His resolve began to weaken the more he watched her break down, Michael saw the internal struggle within her that nobody else would understand but him.

If she killed him now, she would never get to truly experience life as a woman. She'd never love a man, or love a woman. She wouldn't lay with anyone, or see the seven wonders of the world. Her time would be up almost as quick as it began, and so would his.

"I can't promise to ignore my duty completely," he spoke up suddenly, prompting her to rub her eyes furiously. "But I can hold off for a little while."

His words took Molly by surprise, her brows furrowing and head lifting to stare at him.

"What?"

"I can hold off on the whole... _doomsday_ thing. Give you a chance to experience life and all that," he shuffled, pretending it didn't phase him.

"You know that when you inevitably do, that I'll have to kill you."

"Then I'm willing to wait for that day if you are," he held his palm against the mirror glass, feelings it's cool hardness underneath. It was the only form of a handshake he could offer right now.

Molly bit her lower lip harshly, before letting out a soft sigh and raising her hand to press against the reflection of his. However the second she did, a spark similar to that of the one they had at their first encounter jolted them apart.

Instinctively, they both looked at their palms, expecting to see a burn on their palms but ultimately finding nothing. When Michael looked up however, he saw there was a different air to the mirror.

Where before the divide between them looked physical - a glass mirror as plain as day, it now looked like a completely open space. Almost like a door that he was able to cross over into.

Curiously, he stood up and gestured for her to shuffle backwards. Lifting his hand again slowly to test his newfound theory, Molly watched in absolute shock as the tips of his fingers began to go through the mirror, never being obstructed until his entire arm went through.

Following after, he leaped through the space and landed on the other side. In her room.

"How did you do that?" She demanded, wondering if she should have been concerned for herself.

"I guess you just became comfortable enough to let me in, Molly," he grinned wickedly.

* * *

 _ **So they've finally decided to lay off the murder attempts for a little while, let's see how long that lasts muahah.**_

 _ **thanks so much to everyone that's supporting or reading this book, it really encourages me to write and I can't wait to get into the swing of the main plot**_

 ** _mo-rizzle - Thank you much for your kind comments! I completely agree, I wish the show had more Tate/Michael moments than just the one. I think it would have been really interesting. Thanks again and I hope you like this update too! x_**

 ** _Vivi H88 - Thank you so much! x_**

 ** _Sacrecrow - They're both a little shook I would say ahaha, thanks for reviewing I hope you like this one!_**

 ** _Visualshima - That means the world I really appreciate that! Have a wonderful day and I hope you like what's to come x_**

 ** _Jurana Keri - Ahhhh thank you!_**

 ** _Guest - I'm so glad you're enjoying it! It is really rare to see unfortunately, but there's honestly no need to thank me for including POC at all it wasn't much of a decision! I also feel like Laura Harrier is absolutely perfect for Molly and that's who I visualise her as so x_**


	11. A Wrought of Iron

**"HOW ABOUT PARIS?"** Molly mused, her head hanging off the side of her bed as she lay sideways on the mattress. She was absently staring up at the ceiling, while Michael was rifling through the collection of books she had brought with her to California.

"Paris?" He scoffed, "you planning on marrying someone?" He picked up her copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird_ , flipping it around to read the description on the back.

"No," she rolled her eyes, "but it's somewhere Zoe used to talk about a lot. She always wanted to see it."

"Well, what do _you_ want to see?" He asks, eyebrows furrowing while he continues to read the description.

She hums in thought, before a small smile lifts the corners of her lips.

"Rome," she nods, eyes brightening at the prospect.

"Going to visit your good friend the Pope?" He teases, eliciting a chuckle from her. "Is this something you experience?" He asks suddenly, gesturing his head towards the book in hand.

"What? Being on trial for raping a white girl?"

"No," he raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. "Prejudice. _Racism_."

She was taken aback by his question, eyebrows furrowing as she tried to formulate her answer.

"It's not as obvious as people used to make it, but sometimes it's little things. Like how I would walk down the street with 'Delia when I was little and get stared at," she explained, thinking back to all the occasions where she and Queenie were visually set apart from the rest of the girls at the Academy.

"Our... _orphanage_ was in a white neighbourhood, but there was never usually anything more than staring or occasional comments. Queenie and I are were the only black girls on our street," she continued, one occasion springing to mind. "The first time I realised I was truly different, and not just because of my abilities, was when I was six. My school teacher told me my hair was too 'kinky' to let down, and made me sit at the back of the classroom so the boy behind me could see the board. My hair wasn't big at all."

Michael swallowed harshly as he listened, being entirely unable to relate to her experiences but feeling anger on her behalf.

"What's her name?" He enquiries, taking her by surprise.

"Um... Mrs Dane, why-" she was cut off by Michael suddenly standing up, a determined look in his eye.

"Lets go, wake up," he demanded, disappearing in the blink of an eye before she could say anything further. Molly sighed tiredly, closing her eyes shut. When she opened them again, she was snuggled beneath her blankets - the light of day breaking through her curtains.

She knew Michael wouldn't meet her at her house, but he didn't have to. For when she opened the curtains, she saw the blonde boy smiling animatedly on the other side of the front gate, waiting for her while simultaneously staying away from the rest of the Murder House occupants.

* * *

"Where are we?" Molly dared to ask, after Michael had taken her hand and transmuted them both to a location she was unfamiliar with.

They were outside of a house, hidden within the bushes facing the window of the house's living room. Michael wore a smirk that was practically devilish, and she supposed it sort of was.

"You'll realise in a moment," he told her cryptically, eyes trained on the window. A flicker of movement caught the corner of her gaze, and she turned to see who the occupant of the house was, her breath inhaling sharply.

"Mrs. Dane..." she whispered, realising now why they were here. Michael chuckled under his breath as he watched her face of realisation, his hand lifting up, fingers directed towards the window.

The woman had just settled down a cup of tea on her coffee table, before sitting down in the armchair facing the television. It was obvious she no longer worked as a teacher, clearly having reached the age of retirement. Fuelled by Molly's words echoing in his mind, Michael used his telekinetic abilities to lift the filled cup into the air.

"What are you doing?!" Molly hissed, eyes widened with horror as the small teacup lifted and began to dangle above the woman's head, ready to drop at any second.

Michael's expression had slipped from amused to downright determined, the urge he felt to hurt this woman was beginning to consume him. He was no longer able to tell if it were his newfound protectiveness over Molly or his dark side emerging.

Whatever he was about to do was thwarted by the girl beside him, who lifted her own hand and used his concentration against him to fling the levitating cup against the wall. The teacup smashed into pieces, prompting the woman to scream in shock and stare at the smithereens scattered across the ground in horror.

Michael's head turned to look at Molly, eyes full of frustration at her interruption. Nevertheless, he lifted his hand again, and so followed the smashed pieces of the teacup. Molly's eyes glanced back and forth between Michael and Mrs Dane, sympathy flooding her as she watched the woman start to sob in fear.

But Molly wouldn't allow him to do anything further, for she shot her arms out and physically tackled him down to the ground, breaking his display of power. Unfortunately, her shove had ended in her landing on top of him - but if she had to utilise physical strength, then so be it.

"Why did you stop me?" He practically bellowed from underneath her, nostrils flared as she grabbed his wrists and forced them down to the ground.

With her face hovering mere inches above his, Molly shook her head in disappointment, eyes scanning his expression.

"Revenge isn't who I am," she told him, her own tone full of annoyance. "I won't let you harm another living person while you're alive."

"But she _hurt_ you, she made you feel different-" he protested, and for a second her stance faltered. That was when she recognised that Michael was doing this to make _her_ feel better.

"I know," she dropped her voice lower, full of emotion, "and I hated her for that. I used to come home from school and cry my heart out. I thought my skin colour was why I was so different, but it wasn't. I will not allow my life to be consumed with rage over those who have mistreated me, because it would be a long life if I did."

Michael was silenced by her speech, eyes wide with compassion at her words. He allowed his head to fall back against the floor, as he processed her words he came to the conclusion that Molly and himself _were_ opposites. While he has spent his life enraged by those who were unfair to him - his grandmother, his mother, the children in his neighbourhood, Molly seemed to let it empower her. In a good way, at that.

A few seconds had passed while Molly analysed him, searching for any sign he would retaliate if she let him go. But, being honest with herself, Michael could have broken her hold any day. He just didn't.

With an awkward cough, she crawled backwards off of him, allowing him to slowly sit up with a somewhat dazed expression.

"Besides," Molly voiced, trying to break the awkward silence as she held her hand out for them to transmute together back to California, "she's going to die soon enough, anyway. Save yourself the sin."

* * *

Two days had passed, and she had yet to see Michael again. When they arrived back in the city, he immediately disappeared - likely to his own home. He had emitted himself from her dreams once again. This time, she was determined to not seek him out.

Deciding to continue using their truce to her advantage, Molly chose upon a mundane activity she had never quite done before, though always wanted to - which was to see a movie in the theatre.

When she spent her childhood with the nuns, they never saw it acceptable to bring her to movies they deemed were unfit for young eyes. Then, when she went to live with Cordelia and the girls, she had grown up so fast the opportunity merely evaded everyone's mind.

The local theatre was a rather small one, only holding two rooms as they were grand and vintage. Molly longed to be able to bring Violet along with her, but that was impossible.

The theatre was empty except for her and a couple towards the back of the room. To get right into the mood of things, she had also bought herself some popcorn and a drink, curling her feet underneath her as her eyes excitedly roamed the blackened screen above her.

She could sense someone coming into the aisle she was sat in, which wouldn't have been something attention-grabbing if their presence wasn't so familiar and powerful. Resisting an eye roll, Molly turned her head to confirm what she already knew.

The blonde antichrist sat quietly next to her, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen and never straying to her. She scoffed under her breath, redirecting her gaze. Both were too stubborn to speak first.

The opening moments of the movie were dull in theory, but Molly was hooked - loving the vastness of the screen and the way the sound vibrated the seats.

A hand shot out from next to her and rifled into her popcorn box, taking a handful of the salty goodness with it. Molly reached out and lightly smacked Michael's hand, causing him to drop the kernels down onto the ground.

This time, he looked at her, returning her glare with one of his own.

"Nice job," he commented sarcastically, reaching for another handful.

"Stop eating my popcorn," she demanded, dragging the box to her other side and out of his reach.

"What happened to feeding the world, Christ?" Michael raised his brows, and very reluctantly, she returned the box to her other side, allowing him to share.

"So, you've finally crawled out of your cave, have you?"

"Well, I had to get something," he admitted coyly. Shoving the handful of popcorn into his mouth messily, he wiped his hand on his jeans and then slipped his fingers into his pocket, dragging out an envelope with it.

"What's that?" She dared to ask, trying to come off as uncaring.

"I'm, uh-" he broke off, appearing shy all of a sudden. "I'm not good with apologies. So I got this..." Abruptly, he handed the white envelope over to her, eliciting an eyebrow raise.

"What is it?"

"Open it," he huffed, eyes darting everywhere except her gaze as she slipped her hand into the slip and dragged out two square pieces of paper. She squinted to read them in the dark, an occasional flicker of light from the screen assisting her.

"Are these... plane tickets?" She questioned, eyes widened in surprise. This was the last thing she expected. If anything, she'd be less shocked if it were two severed fingers instead.

"Yeah, to Rome," he nodded, his voice quiet all of a sudden. "I know we could just... I don't know, teleport or whatever but I thought maybe you'd like the whole human experience."

He neglected to tell her that he bought the tickets with money he stole after 'teleporting' himself into a bank vault. But he figured the less she knew, the better.

"Michael," she murmured, her lips lifting into a breathtaking smile. "This is amazing, thank you so much!"

Ignoring their previous encounters and the animosity between them, she reached out and wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a hug. Michael gasped in surprise, his body completely freezing and shrinking in a little. He had never been hugged by anyone other than Constance and Mead.

The sensation of her body hugging his was a warm one, and he was embarrassed to feel his heart begin to race. Silently, he hoped she couldn't feel it against her own chest.

By the time the embrace ended, he had been too busy processing it that he had never got the chance to return the hug, but she didn't look like she minded.

They continued to sit there for the rest of the movie, hands occasionally digging into the popcorn and comments shared about the movie's plot. All the while, Molly's grin never broke.

* * *

Excluding the shit-show she had attended weeks earlier, for however long it had been since Molly had attended mass - it was even longer since she made a confession.

It was an act she found difficult while living with the nuns, for it was so very rare that Molly did commit something worth telling a priest about. And even then, it was mainly confessing to minuscule things like rolling her eyes or not doing her homework on time.

Now, she had something to say.

Mary Immaculate was a chapel she had discovered the week before, and had already visited once to ensure the place was welcoming. What had drawn her in originally was the sign outside the door, which said 'All Are Welcome But Hate Is Not'.

From what she had seen on her visit, the chapel received a variety of attendants from every corner in the city, all there to seek solace with God away from the hate preached by others.

Molly had patiently waited her turn in the pews, and when it was her time to go into the confessional box - her hands had become rather sweaty. She was nervous to go into the booth, wondering what she should say and how much she should reveal. But this time in her life was the most confusing by far, and of all the knowledge God had given her, he hadn't given her the answers to life's questions.

She sat down timidly, repeating the responses the nuns had her well versed in to the priest. But when it came time to confess her sins, she faltered.

"I... um-" she cut off, her conjoined hands tightly squeezing each other.

"It's okay, my child," the priest kindly offered, "you are not in a place of judgement. This will be kept confidential."

"I just..." she stammered, deciding to squeeze her eyes shut even though they couldn't see each other any way. "I'm not fulfilling my duty correctly."

"And what duty would that be?"

"What I was born to do- I-... I was born to complete a task, and I'm finding it impossible," she sighed, biting her lower lip. Molly knew she was probably confusing the man, but she simply couldn't help it. What use would it be revealing herself to a priest? She would likely be shunned out of ridiculousness.

"If you were born for it, I doubt that it's impossible for you," he replied calmly.

" _I'm_ making it impossible. It's not- it's not something I necessarily want to do."

"We all have a choice in this world, my child," the priest continued assuredly. "God gave us free will."

"God?" She whispered, her voice breaking. "I don't have a choice in this situation. And I fear for what will happen if I refuse to do it."

"You were given this task for a reason, Molly Cromwell," he replied, causing her to jump in horror as she heard that somehow, the priest knew exactly who she was.

"H-how do you know my name?" She dared to ask, shuffling back and staring at the netted plastic between them. She was sure he couldn't see her well enough to identify her. Molly hadn't failed to notice how firm his voice had suddenly become either, more hardened than before.

"People will burn if you don't, you know what you have to do," he added.

" _What_?" She asked in horror, and mild fear, throwing herself forward to escape the confessional box. Accidentally, she tripped over the small step and fell onto the ground, grasping the attention of all the other sinners waiting in the pews.

The other door began to slowly open, as the priest filed out. His face was serenely calm, scarily so, as he began to advance towards Molly.

" _The beast is about to rise from the bottomless pit and go to destruction_ ," he told her, absolutely terrifying her as she recognised the phrase from a passage in the book of Revelations.

" _She gave birth to a male child_ ," an elderly woman, who was in the pew next to where Molly was splayed out, continued, " _one who is to rule all nations with a wrought of iron_."

With a quick turn of her head, Molly realised that all the attendants who were seated began to slowly move toward her, holding the same expression as the priest. With perfect postures and calculating eyes, soon, all of their voices started to sound out.

" _Their flesh will rot while they are standing on their feet, their eyes will rot in their sockets_."

" _Who is like the beast? And who can fight against it?_ "

The attendants appeared to be possessed, and it was that recognition that brought Molly to the terrifying realisation that this _was_ a possession of sorts. Even worse, it was a _warning_.

"Father?" She timidly called out, not at all meaning to call the priest, but the one who was responsible for her birth.

It was then that the voices stopped, but the crowd did not move any further either. Their chests rose and fell with their breaths, but all they did other than that was simply stare - a somewhat scarier image than before.

Biting down a scream of fear, Molly shoved past the woman and all but sprinted through the pew and down the centre aisle, not daring to look back until she was safely outside.

* * *

 _ **I feel like this book is shiiiiiite but oh well.**_

 _ **If Michael seems a little OOC here, remember this is Michael and Molly's innocent stage. There will come a time where they're not naive and they're not like two teenagers.**_

 ** _I've also introduced a bit of a horror aspect at the end, lest we forget this is American horror story ; )_**

 ** _Thanks so much for reading! I hope everyone is enjoying!_**

 ** _sheshe073 - Ahhhh thank you so much! It's a massive burden and it's only turning them towards each other x_**

 ** _ViviH88 - Thank you! I hope you had a nice Christmas!_**

 ** _Sacrecrow - I'm glad to hear it! It's definitely going to build up between them for a while ; ) I hope you liked this chapter! x_**

 ** _Grim - You're absolutely right I was wondering if anyone spotted that ahah, the two of them will show up soon not to worry! I loooove writing Molly and Violet, I'm hoping to write some parts with Violet and Michael too because we never saw them interact x_**


	12. Soul Destroying

**MOLLY DIDN'T STOP UNTIL SHE REACHED HOME,** panting from exertion as she slammed the front door shut and locked it. As if that would be enough to stop anything following her. Although, she got the impression that her dearest father decided not to pursue her. He didn't need to - having already spooked her enough.

Vivian rounded the corner at the sound of her arrival, carting her perpetual newborn in her arms. She furrowed her brows at Molly's dishevelled state, taking a step towards her.

"Are you okay?" She questioned, and those three words were enough to break the woman down. Molly covered her mouth with the back of her hand, shaking her head as tears began to leak from her eyes.

"No, I'm not," she mumbled, voice thick with unshed emotion.

"Ben, take the baby," she called, even though she had no intentions of seeing her husband any time soon. He appeared quickly none the less, lifting his son into his own arms and cooing as he walked off.

"Come on, honey," Vivian held her hand out, placing it on her shoulder and leading her towards the living room where they could sit on the couch and talk. Molly took a second to calm herself, tucking her hands into her armpits and trying to control her soft whimpers.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, wiping the stray tears away with her fingertips and sniffing loudly.

"It's okay," Vivian hummed. "Talk to me, what's going on?"

"It's my dad," she murmured, sniffling. The words felt foreign from her mouth.

"Your dad as in... the Heavenly Father, right?" She confirmed, nodding when Molly hummed in agreement.

"He just... sent me some kind of message," Molly frowned as she remembered the incident. Just when she had felt she was at a stable point in her life, she was completely thrown off course.

"Saying?" Vivian pushed.

"That I have to kill him."

"Oh," Vivian's mouth formed an 'O' shape, realising now what was going on. "And you... don't want to?"

"He's my friend, Vivian," she revealed, her voice sounding somewhat broken, but sure of herself. "I can't kill him."

"Look," she began, keeping her voice soft to avoid frightening her away. "Whatever you think Michael is - he isn't. He's cunning, and malicious and just _evil_. The devil hid him beneath the guise of a blue eyed teenage boy but he is not what he appears. I'm his mother, I would know."

Molly's eyebrows furrowed, trying to shake the seed of doubt Vivian was implanting.

"No, he- he's _different_ when it's just us," she denied, keeping her eyes on the ground.

"The devil's duty is to lure the innocent," Vivian squeezed her shoulder for reassurance, "you of all people should know that."

Molly didn't respond, her thoughts churning in her mind.

"Its up to you, honey," she smiled softly, moving to get up and leave the younger girl alone to her thoughts, "but how good can someone born from evil really be?"

"Maybe... maybe he takes after his mom?" Molly suggested, rather innocently as her wide eyes fixated on the blonde before him. Physically, there was no doubt they were related. Vivian's fine bone structure and gorgeous blonde hair was something passed on from mother to child.

"I watched him eat a girl's heart, Molly," she admitted with a sigh, looking troubled by the memory. "He's not even human... he's just a monster."

* * *

"He _appeared_ to you?" Michael asked in total surprise, setting down the black hat Molly owned back onto the desk. It was almost a staple article of clothing at Miss Robichaux' - Molly didn't need to be a witch to join in on their black theme.

"Yeah," Molly mumbled, leaning against the headboard of her bed. She didn't approach their meeting that night with much enthusiasm, but still allowed him to enter her bedroom none the less. "Well, he kind of.. came into the body of a priest to speak with me."

"And what did he say?" Michael probed.

"Just-" she hesitated, "just to remind me of where I'm from."

"Huh," he nodded, eyebrows furrowing in some form of offence. "My father never really does things like that."

"Neither did mine, until now," she revealed, shuffling in her bed and turning her head to face the window, away from Michael.

"Why do you think he came to you?" He asked, moving to sit down at the end of her bed.

"So that I would feel empowered enough to kill you," she said without hesitation, barely regretting her words even when he flinched slightly. It was the truth.

"I thought-" he cut off, wrinkling his nose and looking away for a second, "I thought that we had a deal. That we could... _stop_ trying to kill each other. For a while."

Sensing that he was somewhat worried by her news, she smiled softly to soothe his fears and crawled forward to the end of her bed.

"We did, and that's still standing," she assured. Molly couldn't even pretend that the sight of Michael's smile didn't warm her heart.

"I've never been on a plane," he mused randomly, laying down on the bed behind him and crossing his hands over his chest. "How come birds don't get caught in the big fan things?"

"Big fan things?" She echoed, chuckling in amusement, "you mean-"

Before Molly could finish, she suddenly vanished from the dreamscape, leaving nothing but a hitch of her voice in her wake. Michael rolled his head over, waiting for her to continue her sentence before ultimately realising that she was gone.

"Molly?" He whispered, eyes darting around as if she were hiding from him, ready to jump out.

"Molly?" Michael repeated, a small voice in his head telling him that something wasn't right. Listening to his instincts, which were usually right, he shut his eyes and woke himself up from the dream, determined to go investigate.

* * *

The first thing Molly was aware of upon waking up were two icy cold hands gripping her ankles. Her eyes immediately shot open, darting down to see the disturbance just as she was physically dragged from her own bed.

Samantha laughed hysterically at her actions, the young Christ falling against the ground beneath with a loud thud. Molly hissed with the dull ache forming, head then snapping up to see who was in the room with her.

Anton and Samantha stood towering above her, smirking delightfully at her state of distress. Molly's mouth fell open in horror upon seeing them, only taking a second to comprehend how. They had died within the walls of Murder House after all.

" _Fuck_!" She swore to herself, scrambling to get onto her feet and defend herself before they could attack. She didn't know how she hadn't thought of the possibility they'd reappear here.

Before Molly could stand up fully, Anton stepped forward and lifted his foot, delivering a swift kick to her stomach that sent her flailing back down to the ground again. Biting her lip to keep from groaning, she wrapped one hand protectively around her middle, the other flying up into the air.

On cue, with a surge of energy from Molly's behalf, the closet behind Anton suddenly tipped forward, smacking straight into his back and crushing him to the ground with its weight.

Unfortunately, it didn't have the desired effect as Samantha only giggled again. Turning her attention to the second satanist, Molly tried to summon the same power within her that killed the woman in the first place. It wasn't long before the black haired woman disintegrated into pieces once more.

Temporarily relieved from their presence, Molly lay back down, panting lightly and trying to get her thoughts in order, to process the events. A knock on the door sounded, soon opening after with a creak to reveal the duo once more.

"Sorry, your grace," Anton cooed sarcastically, "we're already dead."

"There are worse things than death," a new voice sounded out, all heads turning to the corner of the room as Molly hauled herself to a standing position. Michael was stood, hair messy from sleeping and still in his pyjamas. His appearance was entirely non threatening - if you hadn't seen his expression.

He looked positively _murderous_ as he regarded the two in the doorway, jaw set with anger and eyes blazing.

"Our saviour," Anton whispered in admiration, dropping to his knees alongside Samantha. "I never thought my eyes would be blessed with the sight of you again."

"Don't act as if you're loyal to me when you went behind my back," Michael spat, his hands balled into fists by his side.

"W-we were only trying to further your agenda," Samantha stuttered.

"I'll decide what my agenda is," he answered, taking a few steps toward them. Molly watched the exchange in silence, wondering how Michael knew she was distressed and how he would react now. "Say hello to my father for me."

"What-" Anton began to ask, but before he could, Michael's fists unballed. His fingers stiffened out as his fiery anger surged toward, taking form in the destruction of Anton and Samantha's souls. They screamed in agony as they combusted into flames, their bodies consumed by the fire as it destroyed every inch of them.

Molly watched in horror, and mild fascination, at the display of power. It was something she herself was incapable of. Molly was able to assist lost souls in moving on, but what Michael was doing was something else entirely. And he didn't even need to touch them physically like she did.

When they finally disintegrated, all that was left was a cloud of ash, their remains fluttering down to the ground. Michael dropped to his knees from exertion, panting heavily as he tried to calm his breathing.

"Michael?" Molly murmured, rushing to his side and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm fine," he grunted, hands on his knees. He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, looking considerably calmer when reopening them.

Michael turned to look at Molly, eyes scraping over her appearance for any sign of an injury.

"Are _you_ okay?" He asked, a flicker of concern in his eyes. She nodded in confirmation, leaning in to wrap her arms around him, body trembling slightly. He didn't hesitate this time, wrapping his arms around her in return.

When they finally broke apart, she took a deep breath in, shaking her head with a slightly amused smile.

"I could have done that myself," she spoke proudly, lightening the seriousness.

"Sure you could," he rolled his eyes. "Why leave it to me then? Did you have a spell of laziness?"

"Why exert myself when you were gonna do it?" She teased.

She sat back on her bottom, tucking her legs underneath her and scraping a hand through her hair, scratching slightly at the scalp.

Unbeknownst to them both, Vivian and Constance were stood quietly in the doorway, the former of the two wearing a worried grimace while the other looked more than peeved. Two women, bonded by their differing, yet still blood connection to Michael.

"Now _that_ ," Constance pointed with her finger, pausing to take a sip from her drink before meeting Vivian's eye. "That is not good."

"This is going to end badly," Vivian agreed, watching as Molly crawled back onto her bed and shuffled towards the top, Michael's eyes never leaving her.

"No, this is going to end badly for _one_ of them," Constance corrected, turning towards the hallway to take off, unable to watch any more. "And for our sakes, I hope it's him."

"I don't even think I could sleep now," Michael huffed, standing up once more. "Destroying souls tends to keep me awake."

"If you-" Molly started, tugging the blankets up her body and awkwardly avoiding his eye. "If you aren't going back home, anytime soon, do you think-... do you think you could stay for a bit?"

He looked astounded by her question, lips even parting in surprise. Michael could tell by the set of Molly's expression she was uncomfortable in her room, and was most likely uncomfortable with the prospect of sleeping after being so horribly awakened just minutes before.

"I don't know..." he spoke awkwardly, glancing around his old bedroom and at the open doorway. He couldn't see anyone standing there - but he knew someone was. Someone was always watching in murder house.

"It's fine if you can't or whatever," Molly shrugged off. "No big deal. I'm a big girl."

Michael's eyes were fixed on the door, as if someone were looking back at him. Lifting his hand, he twitched his fingers and telepathically shut it, hoping the closed door would give him privacy for the night so he could leave in the morning.

"I can stay for a bit," he agreed, nodding his head before looking at the bed, eyes anxiously darting over it and wondering if she wanted him to sleep in it too. That was crossing all sorts of boundaries.

"Um, you could sleep at the bottom?" She suggested, sensing the discomfort. "I just hope your feet aren't stinky."

"My grandmother taught me to scrub them," he scoffed, playfully. Michael lumbered towards the bed frame, recalling the last time he slept in it with much unpleasantness. It was the night his mother tried to kill him.

Lifting the blanket carefully, as if it would bite him, he slid beneath it, immediately turning so he was facing away from her, although he couldn't see her face from this angle anyway. By accident, his feet brushed against her arm, causing him to stiffen up and her to gasp slightly.

"Your feet are freezing," she complained, shuffling backwards a bit.

"Want me to leave?" He threatened, a smile daring to break out on his lips. She didn't answer right away.

"Thank you for staying," she said eventually, full of gratitude. It was rather ironic really - she felt somewhat safe with her worst enemy sleeping next to her.

This time Michael was the one who didn't respond. For as young as he was, he'd admit his grasp of right and wrong was fairly general. But something told him the way he would consistently do _good_ things for Molly was something his father, and Mead, wouldn't approve of either. Their friendship was wrong.

Nevertheless, they slept sounder together than they had in a while, not needing to enter the dreamscape when they were physically together.

* * *

 _ **Hello again, I hope everyone had a happy new year!**_

 _ **Next chapter is when things really start to progress with the main plot, so bear with me!**_

 _ **I hope everyone liked this one x**_

 _ **mo-rizzle - Thank you so much! I hope you had a lovely Christmas and New Years x**_

 _ **Sacrecrow - Creepy was exactly what I was going for! He's so cute and innocent right NOW anyway ; ) thank you so much again and I hope you like what's to come!**_

 _ **Vivi H88 - thank you!**_

 _ **lisaettenicole - Awww this was so nice to read! It's not so nice though that you can relate to Molly because of her experiences but I hope reading her character is somewhat of a representation for you and a release of sorts, natural hair is gorgeous I hope you come to realise that! x Thank you so so much for your kind words!**_

 _ **New World Wonder - Thanks so much! I hope you like what's to come!**_


	13. Dream a Little Dream

**MICHAEL LANGDON HAD A PARTICULAR HATRED OF PRIESTS.** There was no way he couldn't, after all. Their existence went against everything he believed, everything he was _born_ to be. Every essence of their being went against his father, even praying daily for his downfall. He felt a sense of loyalty towards his lineage - meaning he detested everyone involved with religion. Priests and church-goers alike.

But his resentment steadily grew to a full-blown hatred as he developed. An incident where his grandmother brought in a priest to 'cure him' of his so-called troubles springing to mind.

The priest believed the devil had a grasp of his childhood mind, preyed on his innocence and manifested itself by prompting him to commit evil acts. So when Constance left them alone, the priest would speak words that caused his ears to burn, a blinding pain resonating through his skull. His reaction only spurred the priest on more, as if he delighted in Michael's pain, when really - he just wanted to rid the child of evil.

His grandmother was disgusted when she found the scene. Michael only understood more about it now, but he still thought it was wrong of her to be so angry at her grandson for defending himself.

He remembered the experience so vividly, he knew better than to enter the church he was seated outside of. Michael lounged lazily on the stone steps, his eyes transfixed on the moon while he waited patiently. Funnily enough, patience wasn't a virtue he was ever bestowed with before. But he was willing to wait for this.

The priest from his younger years sprang to mind when the subject of his evening finally exited through the front entrance, eagerly locking it behind him. They looked nothing alike - this one had dark skin and a hairless head. But their purpose was all the same.

Besides, this wasn't his first time to kill a priest.

It wasn't hard to track down where Molly attended Mass, quietly following behind her that same morning. He waited until she left, looking positively _glowing_. Radiant was not a good enough word to describe the lightness Molly practically emanated everywhere she went. He didn't know how she could stand to go to the same church after her incident the week before, but he didn't question it.

"Are you okay, son?" A voice sounded from behind him, Michael's eyes falling to the ground beneath him. The priest approached the boy, who wore nothing but a t-shirt and shorts despite the cooler night air. Cooler than normal for California.

He approached the boy until he was standing beside him, taking in his young appearance. Michael looked no more than seventeen or eighteen.

"Have you got a place to sleep tonight?" The priest pressed, hesitating before placing a hand on his shoulder in comfort, worried for his well-being and eager to help any lost soul.

"Oh," Michael responded, slowly standing up to his full height, which towered over the clergyman. "I'm just fine."

Michael turned to face him head on, pushing down the glimmer of guilt rising within him. _Molly wouldn't find out_ , he told himself. All he had to do was be discrete. People disappeared all of the time, she had no reason to draw it back to himself.

"I'm sorry," Michael told him sincerely, confusing the older man. A shiver of fear arose within the priest, every instinct in his body screaming at him to run. He was confused at the sensation, the boy certainly _looked_ innocent. But upon closer inspection, there was a certain coldness in his eyes that told him he wasn't.

"For what? Are you here to confess?" The priest asked, taking a step backward.

"If _He_ comes into you again, I can't take the risk that she'll leave me," Michael shook his head, a lump in his throat as he advanced forward the step the Priest had taken back.

"Who will leave? What do you want?" He stammered, starting to appear frightened and retreating back.

"I could see it in her eyes," Michael continued, ignoring him. His eyes darted to the ground for a moment and his expression crumpled. "She _doubted_ our friendship. If her father gets into her head she'll try to kill me, and I'll have no choice but to stop her."

Realising it was wise to escape the clearly upset boy, the priest turned on the spot and began to sprint down the street as fast as he could. Michael lifted his head upon hearing the scuffing of feet, letting out a saddened sigh and raising his fingers. He snapped his forefinger and thumb, the click sound followed by the crack of the priests neck.

Immediately he was filled with the sensation of regret, but he tried to remind himself why he was doing this. His reasoning seemed less and less valid the closer he stepped towards the body, and had vanished completely by the time he was forced to bury the body.

* * *

"Do we need sunblock?" Michael asked with curiosity, one hand positioned on the handlebar of the shopping cart while the other hovered over the white bottle.

"I don't need it anyway," Molly shrugged, knowing well she didn't get sunburn and assumed he didn't either from his heightened healing. "You might need it when you die though, burning in hell might give you a bit of a burn."

She dropped her left eye in a wink, chuckling immediately afterward as she continued to trail down the aisle, eyes skimming over the holiday essentials on offer. The corners of Michael's lips lifted in a smile as he discretely watched her. She looked nothing less than angelic today.

It was her own idea to go shopping together for stuff to bring to Italy. Molly nor Michael had ever been on a trip or holiday, and were rather enjoying the routine of packing and preparing. It was something completely mundane, and they both rather liked it.

Their trip was on Friday, and despite the holiday being a gift for Molly, he found himself looking forward to it as well.

"Oh look!" She pointed out happily, all but skipping towards another display of sunglasses. Carefully, she dragged a black pair forward and tried them on, turning back around when they were covering her eyes. "Sunglasses! So the bright flames of hell don't damage your eyesight!"

"You're so funny," he rolled his eyes, secretly amused by her teasing. "But what about this?" Michael reached for a cheap fiction book stationed on a shelf, lifting it up and angling it towards her. "A book to entertain yourself. Because you know, all the boring people go to Heaven."

"I'm not sure," she pursed her lips, pretending to deliberate it mentally while she tapped her chin with her finger, "I think I'll take boring over Hitler."

"We _torture_ people like Hitler in Hell, Molly," Michael corrected with a slight smirk, "it's not like we party it up with them."

She merely made a childish face and placed the sunglasses back, dissolving into giggles afterward before she reached for a travel-sized tube of toothpaste and tossed it into the cart.

Michael didn't know when exactly he became attached to Molly, but perhaps it was when simple moments like this had started to feel like the most important thing in the world.

* * *

"I can't believe Michael's taking you on a trip," Violet huffed from Molly's bed while she watched the girl delicately fold clothes into a suitcase. "Tate never took me on a trip."

"First of all," Molly shook her head, dropping the t-shirt she was holding to place her hand on her hip, "that's different, you _dated_ Tate. And second of all, I wonder if that had something to do with the fact that he couldn't exactly walk past the front gates?"

"Excuses, excuses," she waved her hand in the air, turning her attention back to the magazine she was flicking through out of boredom. "So if you're not dating... what are you?"

"Friends," Molly answered without hesitation, before pausing in embarrassment when she realised how weird that would sound to Violet.

"'Friends'," Violet echoed, eyes widened slightly for a moment, "damn. When did that happen?"

Molly simply shrugged. She had long since stopped wondering how she went from arriving in California with the intentions of killing the Antichrist, only to end up booking a trip to Rome with him.

"Well if it keeps him from killing people, I guess," Violet shrugged, flicking another glossy page over. "What the hell? Since when did Brad and Angelina split up?" The teenager paused for a second, eyes narrowing into the distance as she slowly realised what she had just said. "Did those words just come out of my mouth?"

Letting out a huff, she closed the magazine and lazily trailed towards the window, a solemn expression on her face. Molly watched her with curiosity, tucking a pair of pyjamas into the suitcase before turning to give her friend her full attention.

"Is everything okay?" She pressed, crossing her arms and following after her. Violet leaned against the window, while Molly stood in front of her, arm resting against the wall. The older girl fished for a cigarette and lighter from her deep cardigan pockets, bringing the former to her lips and lighting it up.

The smell used to bother Molly, but she found it was somewhat comforting now that she had been around her for so long. She automatically began to associate it with Violet whenever she smelled it now.

"I don't know," Violet shrugged, leaning her head against the glass as she watched life go on around he neighbourhood. "I'm kinda jealous, I guess."

"Of what?"

"I'm not jealous you're like... _with_ my brother, cos that's gross-"

"We're not _with_ each other," Molly cut in, huffing in frustration.

"Right, whatever. I guess... living here all the time, I'm with other people that are trapped too. But now you're here and I have to watch you go and live your life while I'm stuck here for the rest of mine."

"Oh Violet," Molly spoke sympathetically, reaching her hand out to grip her shoulder. The girl shrugged, mildly embarrassed by her confession. "Why didn't you say something? I hope you don't think I've been flaunting it or anything..."

It saddened the second coming to hear her friend was envious of her life, when in truth, Violet was slowly becoming the thing that kept her grounded in California ever since she arrived. She often wondered if God had led her to Murder House to find solace within its residents - well, one resident in particular. Violet was the only true friend she had ever had. She could count Michael, but that was still relatively new and frightening.

"No, no!" Violet denied, taking another long drag before continuing. "That's not it at all. I'm just getting into my feelings. There's nothing else to really do around here."

"You know," Molly started with hesitation, knowing her friend deserved to hear the offer. "If you... wanted to move onto a better place, I could help with that. Like I did with Moira."

"Thanks, but no thanks," she smiled softly, "I don't think I'm ready yet. And to be honest, I'm kind of too scared to. Maybe someday I'll take you up on that offer."

"Well, is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Get a new family to move in with a kid my age who I can fall for and get over Tate with?" She offered, sarcastically grinning before shaking her head and chuckling.

"You'll get over him eventually, I know you will," Molly encouraged her, but honestly - even she was unsure. It had been years after all.

"It's kinda sad that he's gonna be my last kiss," Violet grumbled, looking towards the closed bedroom door with resentment. "My psychopathic ex boyfriend will be my last kiss. And I'm only sixteen. It's not like I'm ninety and I've lived my life."

"He won't be your last kiss," Molly disputed with furrowed brows.

"Yes he will, that's my romantic life over and done with before it ever even truly began. It's sad as fuck-" before Violet could finish her sentence, Molly rolled her eyes in amusement and leaned forward, gently cupping her cheek and bringing their lips together.

At first, Violet was so shocked by the action her eyes remained wide open, staring at Molly's closed eyelids. It was the strangest sensation of her life - and not because she was kissing a girl. It was as if with her lips, she was soothing her worries and surrounding her with an aura of lightness.

Violet could have assumed that it meant she was now attracted to the God-given woman, but somehow she _knew_ this was her powerful influence. Molly was making Violet feel better.

When they broke apart, Violet opened her eyes immediately, narrowing them in confusion before relaxing when she began to understand.

"There," Molly grinned cheekily, "even if that should be your last kiss ever, at least you can say you kissed Christ."

"What do you know," Violet giggled, unable to stop from smiling, "it actually pays off to befriend the weird Jesus freak."

"Did you just friendzone me?" Molly slapped her hand over her chest with amusement, gasping dramatically.

* * *

That night when Molly closed her eyes, she wasn't brought back to the mental landscape of her bedroom, nor was Michael waiting for her. In fact, she dreamed. Much like her dreams before she met him, filled with violence and images of things going on in the world. She wondered briefly if her father was trying to punish her, or was attempting to separate them.

The flashes of images that caused her to whimper in her sleep stopped eventually, and she was left standing in a stretch of woodland at night time. Molly turned all around, desperately searching for a reason to be here, or for another purpose. It was dark, the only light source being the moonlight through the trees, immediately creating an eerie scene reminiscent of a horror movie.

A crackle of leaves sounded behind her, and she whipped around just in time to see a figure. Molly squinted her eyes through the darkness to try and make out the figure's face, only realising as he neared closer that it was Michael - from his blonde head of hair.

He was dragging something along the ground with him, murmuring to himself.

"Michael!" Molly called out to get his attention, but he didn't react, nor even seem to notice her presence at all. She wondered then if he was blatantly ignoring her, or if their shared dreams had now shifted to a new landscape.

But she stopped trying to get his attention when she saw the shape of what he was dragging along. It was encased within a black bag, but the shape of it was undeniably a person. A very dead person at that.

Molly's blood ran cold, her hands lifted to cup over her mouth. Shock and betrayal flooding through her. The idea that this was an event that happened before their agreement piqued in her mind, but she quickly shut the notion down. Michael's hair had steadily been growing longer and longer, this was his current hairstyle. If anything, this could be happening at this very moment. But then she recognised his outfit - his exact clothes from the day before.

She couldn't bring herself to cry, the pain of his deception as heavy as a hole being punched through her chest. A hole would have hurt less. Sniffling quietly, Molly shot toward the body, begging it to be someone who he thought genuinely deserved it. A mass murderer, a rapist, _anyone_ deemed evil.

But when she peaked inside the bag, and saw the dark skinned head of the priest she had spoken with just the day before, she finally broke down and began to cry. Molly's knees dropped to the forest floor, sobs wracking her body with horror. Dead bodies weren't something new to her, her dreams had been plagued with them for years. But this was someone she knew.

And he was surely dead because of her connection to Michael.

The sounds of shovelling met her ears, but she didn't dare open her eyes, begging her body to wake itself up from what was definitely the worst nightmare she ever had. She didn't open her eyes once, not even when she felt the bodybag slip away from beside her.

Molly was still sobbing when she woke up the next morning, and judging by the dried tears on her cheeks, her crying had reached her physical form as well as her mental one.

But it was becoming hard to distinguish who she cried more for - her priest, or for Michael.

* * *

 _ **Ello! By the way - this book isn't going to be a love triangle with Molly loving both Michael and Violet (Although I would low-key die to write that and am very tempted to).Violet and Molly are just friends.**_

 _ **I'm writing Molly as a rather fluid person, just like Michael (Cody Fern confirmed). I just can't imagine her being strictly heterosexual.**_

 _ **This is pretty much the last chapter where they're innocent kids which is sad af, but I hope you alike the direction from here!**_

 _ **mo-rizzle - Thank you so much! I hope you like this direction when you see what happens haha x**_

 _ **Vivi H88 - Thanks! Hope you like it xx**_

 _ **sheshe073 - Exactly! Molly barely sees Michael's monster side any more, she just seems him as her friend and it's difficult to distinguish him as evil when he's kind to her. That analogy is really good too! They're the same, but also completely different!**_

 _ **Grim - Molly is a rather person, she has been her whole life which is why she latched on easier to Michael than she would have had she been surrounded by an effective support. And oh yes! Most of the characters will be involved in this book, not just Murder House. I hope you like this chapter! x**_

 _ **Sacrecrow - Awwww thank you! I'm so excited for their relationship to grow deeper than friendship, I have so many plans! Thank you so much for your support x**_


	14. Youth Decay

**NO TIME WAS WASTED AFTER WAKING UP.** Molly knew full well that the dream was not something conjured from her mind, but she had to be certain. She had to prove, for her own piece of mind, that Michael had did something this atrocious.

Without any further preparation than getting dressed, Molly transmuted herself into the woodland, which she had recognised as the forestry nearby the church she attended. She had tried to place herself in the exact position as her dream, but it wasn't hard to find anyway. The image was so far engraved in her mind, she couldn't forget it even if she tried.

There was a long stretch of ground that had clearly been tampered with - dirt freshly dug and a darker colour to the soil around it. Molly didn't come equipped with a shovel, nor would she have used one anyway. The girl merely lifted her hand and telekinetically lifted the dirt from the ground, placing it in a mound next to the makeshift grave.

Sure enough, there was a black bag identical to the one in her mind. Confirmation wasn't the only thing Molly had in her mind - any soul that could be saved from Michael's damnation, would be.

With a wince and grimace, she slid herself down into the long hole, crouching down until she hovered over the top of the bag. Tentatively, she reached toward it, unveiling it carefully. The sight of his face lifelessly suddenly staring back at her caused her to recoil, her breath hitching in her chest. Even if she knew who would be in the bag, it didn't make the suffering any easier.

The body was beginning to smell - a telltale sign that it probably had been disposed of around two days ago. She guessed it wasn't much longer after she had attended his mass service on Sunday.

"I'm sorry," Molly whispered quietly, her hand reaching forward to close his eyelids before she separated her fingers out over his face. With a strong mental push on her behalf, Molly willed his soul to rejoin his body, but after seconds of trying it was clear he wasn't coming back.

"What?" She whimpered to herself, completely confused. Molly attempted to revive him once more, but it was soon clear this wasn't a blockage in her power. This was Michael's doing.

He had did to this priest, exactly what he had done to the Satanists who attacked her.

With that realisation, a sob ripped from her throat. Her hand flew up to grasp her chest, desperately trying to control her breathing as she cried audibly, echoing through the trees. The guilt from her involvement with Michael weighed heavily on her, but mostly she felt humiliated and weak. After all, she was the one who trusted he wouldn't harm anyone for the duration of their agreement. Molly should have known better than to deal with the devil.

Tears strolling down her cheeks, Molly desperately scrambled out of the grave, her clothes and hands covered in dirt as a result. When finally on solid ground again, she decided to take a few minutes of solitude for contemplation and mourning.

Molly would need a plan if she intended to confront Michael about this. One thing was certain - she wouldn't be letting him off with a warning.

* * *

Michael Langdon was worried.

It wasn't an emotion he often felt with regards to others, but there was no denying - to himself or anyone else, he worried for Molly Cromwell. For the first time since their initial meeting, she was the one to be absent from their shared dreams, leaving him alone in his bedroom with his thoughts.

He thought about their last encounter over and over, analysing every detail to assess if at any point he had offended her. But Michael came up blank each time, Molly had even said 'see you later' before they departed.

If she were dead, he decided he would know. Like it or not, understand it or not, they were bonded on a level no one else could reach. He could sense her presence when she was nearby, he would certainly know if she was dead.

A few hours into the morning passed, and Michael's restlessness grew too much to bear. He had a horrible feeling something was going wrong. He wasn't sure what, but he _knew_.

He must have been mad, he decided. So mad that his sensitivity for Molly once again led him to a place he promised to never re-enter - Murder House.

The first place he checked was her room, finding it devoid of life with unmade sheets. He decided next to take a tentative walk around the house, in case she was somewhere else. Michael abhorred how his shoulders slouched with discomfort. The ghosts should have been scared of _him_ , not the opposite way around. But the last person he wanted to see was any one of the remaining inhabitants, who would judge him mercilessly.

He could feel their gazes on him as he walked the halls. But they didn't dare reveal themselves to him.

"She's not here," a girl's voice commented from the dining room table, after he had successfully reached the main floor without contacting anyone.

He turned his head carefully, eyes narrowed with suspicion at the sight of a blonde teenager seated at the table, slowly cutting an apple into slices.

It was a girl he had never seen in his life, but from Ben's stories and her striking likeness with Vivian, Michael could guess with ease that this was his long lost half-sister.

"Where is she?" He asked carefully, approaching the table with cautious steps. He always wondered why Violet never wanted to see him before. And he would be lying if he said he hadn't wanted to meet her once upon a time.

"I don't know," she shrugged, still not sparing him a glance as she harshly cut out a few stray seeds. "Left in quite a rush this morning."

"So... she's okay?" He hesitated to ask, aware the question alone made him look bad. At his words, Violet stopped cutting the apple, her eyes lifting from the table to Michael's blue irises.

"She's fine," Violet revealed, not allowing Michael a beat of relief before continuing, "no thanks to you, of course."

"What is that supposed to mean?" He questioned, taking a step further toward her. He was a little out of sorts, speaking to his sister. Even more put off by how she wasn't intimidated by him at all.

"Molly's my friend," Violet informed him, standing up from her chair, "and I know what it's like to have feelings for someone that's plain evil."

"She doesn't have feelings for me," he screwed up his expression, narrowing his eyes at her in confusion.

"Right," Violet rolled her eyes, "your _friendship_ then, it isn't good for her. You're just going to keep doing things that will hurt her because that's who you are. Hell, I don't even think it's your fault. It's in your genes."

"You don't know anything about me," his voice dropped, tone full of warning.

"I know that she inspires you to be better," Violet rhymed off, looking at him with a knowing look in her eye. "But I also know that you still do things you know you shouldn't, and you don't know why you do it."

"Stop talking," Michael demanded, nostrils flaring as she looked him over.

"You want to know why?" She lifted an eyebrow. "Because I dated your dad. I know him better than anyone. You look like an angel, but you act like a devil. I know you don't like hearing it, but you are _just_ like-"

Before Violet could finish her sentence, Michael shot his hand forward, ready to silence her once and for all. He was stopped by the sight of movement in the corner of his eye - the knife she was using on the apple suddenly whirring through the air and landing in a dark-coloured hand outstretched from behind him.

Molly was home.

With tears still dripping from her eyes, the girl used all of her strength - physical and mental, and rammed the blade through his back, a sickening crunch filling the room.

Michael gasped out in pain, his head falling to look down at the slight tip of the knife that had poked its way through his body. Molly's hands dropped from the hilt, and even though she committed the act, she still looked horrified.

Michael slowly turned, stumbling slightly, to look at his attacker. When his eyes fell on the heartbroken expression of the girl he considered his only friend, his heart broken even more painfully than the blade that was currently tearing through it.

" _Why_?" He whispered, lower lip quivering in agony, his eyes filled with betrayal.

"I- I couldn't let you do it, you promised me you wouldn't hurt anyone," she murmured, eyes never leaving his as a sob wracked through her throat once more.

Violet was shocked as well, never thinking that Molly would have it in her to actually kill him. But she could tell by the heartbroken expression on her face that it absolutely broke her to do it. Something told her that it wasn't Molly's divine nature that drove her regret.

Sensing that they needed a minute alone while Michael was still breathing, she sneaked away, neither one noticing.

Michael's body crumpled, prompting Molly to reach out in an attempt to lessen his hit with the ground. She laid him gently on his side, kneeling beside him and starting to carefully stroke his blonde locks back from his face. He truly never looked younger. Any essence of malice or cockiness completely vanished.

Michael's eyes were fluttering now, each passing second bringing with it the realisation of what she had truly done. Even while she was doing it, Molly thought that it wouldn't be enough to kill him. But here he was, in her arms and slowly fading away.

"I-I'm sorry-" he tried to speak, his voice desperate as he tried to cling onto life, his hands gripping her sleeves.

Molly wanted to reply to him, tell him that she was sorry too, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Tears soaked her cheeks now, likely leaving her looking a mess with a stuffed nose and reddened eyes.

Nevertheless, she leaned in and placed a delicate kiss to forehead, lingering for a few seconds more.

"Take him to the street," a voice cut through the room disrupting their moment together. Molly's head lifted to see Constance in the door frame, eerily calm but a disturbed hint to her expression. "We don't want him coming back in this house."

Molly's eyebrows furrowed at her coldness to her grandson, eyes returning to Michael. Before her very eyes, he vanished from her sight. The places on his body that she was gripping onto diminished, leaving her clutching nothing but air.

Michael was gone.

Molly's body slumped forward, soaking her jeans and hands in the pool of blood left behind on the wooden floor. But she barely noticed. All she could think about were his eyes while he lay dying. No person alive could say that they detected any hint of a lie within him while he apologised to her.

Numb, she took a deep breath and waited for her own death to follow. After all, her entire existence was built around destroying the antichrist. Now that he was gone, surely she would be called back to Heaven at any minute. The prospect once frightened her, but now she wanted nothing more than to disappear in his stead. Suddenly the years she envisioned, the trips she had planned and the sights she wanted to see didn't matter. Perhaps they didn't matter because Michael wouldn't be by her side.

* * *

"She's been sitting there for hours," Vivian whispered to Ben, her hand splayed across her chest in a concerned manner. Violet lurked behind her, biting her nails - an action she only committed when she was nervous.

"She must be in shock," Ben replied, gaze scraping over her while his analytical mind took over. Vivian gave him a pointed stare, nodding towards the broken teenager in the hallway. With a sigh, he took a hint, carefully stepping towards her and crouching down.

"Molly?" He murmured, not wanting to set her off. She no longer cried, her expression was set still, eyes never wavering from the wall in front of her.

"Why am I still here?" She replied, voice hoarse from not talking for a while.

"What do you mean?" He pressed, tentatively placing a hand on her shoulder out of comfort. The contact broke her gaze away to meet his eyes.

"I should be dead, but I'm still here," she repeated, confusion clouding her features. Ben sighed at her words, wondering if her killing Michael had driven her to suicidal thoughts.

"Are you having thoughts of harming yourself?" He asked outright.

"No," she shook her head weakly, eyes narrowed in mild frustration. "You don't understand."

Ben nodded in acceptance, casting a glance back at Vivian who made a motion with her hand to encourage him. Swallowing, the father of two leaned in and gently slid his hands around her back and under her knees, hauling her up into his arms. She didn't protest, nor even react to the action.

His fatherly nature began to kick in as he carried her towards her bedroom, feeling as if it were Violet he was carrying instead of the off-spawn of God himself. Vivian followed after him, opening doors when necessary and standing in the doorframe while Ben lowered Molly into her bed to get some rest.

She then stepped inside, lifting the blankets up over the girl's shoulders and giving her arm a gentle squeeze of encouragement.

"We're proud of you, honey," she whispered to her, forcing a smile before backing away out of the bedroom.

She meant well, Molly knew, but this didn't stop her from starting to cry again the second she was alone. The last thing she wanted was praise for what she did.

* * *

She wasn't sure how much time had passed - hours, days, a week. Molly didn't leave her bed, not even when a biting sensation of hunger filled her stomach. She wasn't ready to get up yet.

The silence and solitude of her room left her alone with her thoughts, which wasn't a positive thing given the circumstances. She could still feel the dried blood crusting on her legs and arms, knowing full well she probably stunk something bad. But who cared?

Molly tried not to think about _him_. All she would do is feel guilty if she did. For an hour or so, she tried to convince herself she did the right thing. He had killed an innocent man, and may have intended to kill Violet too. He had to be stopped, no doubt about it.

But she couldn't shake the feeling she could have done _more_. More to save him from himself, to drag him towards the light. Even when she forced all thoughts of him from her mind, she wasn't left with much to think about. To have committed one's entire life purpose at such a young age left her with a hollow feeling. For the rest of her time on earth, she would have nothing to do. Molly wasn't born to save the world from its sins like her predecessor, she was born to kill Michael. And now she had nothing - neither her friend nor her reason for living.

A vibrating noise met her ears, prompting her to turn her head towards the source - her mobile phone on her nightstand. It was almost funny to her how easily she forgot the thing, having left it there for days without being touched. Then again, she didn't have anyone to talk to on it.

Molly stretched her hand out, squinting her tired eyes to read the screen.

It was Cordelia.

If it had been anyone else, Molly would ignore it and return to her near-catatonic state. But something told her to talk to the Supreme, perhaps it would lift her spirits.

"Molly!" She hissed through the phone, with as much annoyance as the Supreme was able to muster - which didn't amount to a lot. "I have been trying to get in touch with you for _weeks_."

"Sorry," Molly murmured, her voice nearly coming out as a croak.

"You should-" Cordelia broke off upon noticing her tone, "is everything okay?"

Molly hesitated, remembering that Zoe would surely have told Cordelia about Michael's death months ago. She could continue the lie, say she was fine and coming down with something. But Molly didn't have anyone else. And in the absence of that, she turned to the closest person she ever had to a mother.

"Delia-" Molly's voice broke, a fresh wave of tears threatening to fall.

"Oh, Molly," she replied down the line with a softer tone, "what's going on?"

"I'm coming back," Molly informed her, sniffling lightly. She almost said 'home', but that didn't feel right any more.

* * *

 _ **Do I even need to calm your worries? This is only chapter 13, I'm not even going to PRETEND he's staying dead hahah**_

 _ **Also, please don't hate my girl Molly. He murdered an innocent man and for all she knew, was about to send Violet packing. This chapter represents the end of their "innocent" stage, so from here on out things will never be so simple and easy between them (sounds fun right)?**_

 _ **I hope you enjoyed this chapter! x**_

 _ **mo-rizzle - More you shall have!**_

 _ **ViviH88 - Thanks hope you enjoy x**_

 _ **sheshe073 - Between us I think Molly and Michael are a little soft for each other already too, but they're too mentally young to understand it or romanticise it just yet if that makes sense? Molly definitely confronted him alright!**_

 _ **Scarecrow - Ahhh thank you so much! I'm gonna miss their innocent days as well, but I'm also excited for drama to kick off, especially when the witches and warlocks get involved ; ) I hope you liked this one! x**_


	15. Dead To Me

**"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'RE LEAVING,"** Violet commented from the door frame, staring at the girl as she packed her final belongings into her bag. Molly was likely forgetting something, but in truth she didn't much care for a stray t-shirt.

Violet Harmon couldn't keep the bitterness out of her tone while she spoke, knowing full well she was acting immature. The teenager simply couldn't help it - Molly was her only friend, the one person she could talk to. If she left, the blonde would go back to being almost entirely alone, save for her parents. Not to mention the complete and utter _boredom_.

"I just have to get out of this city, Vi," Molly sighed, gripping the strap of her bag and hauling it over her shoulder. She gave her friend a saddened smile, and stepped toward her with her arms wide.

"What's in New Orleans that you can't get here?" Violet huffed, embracing her in a hug nonetheless.

"I don't even know any more," Molly admitted, voice muffled against the cardigan on Violet's shoulder. "But I guess that's where everyone I grew up with is. I don't really have anywhere else to go."

"I'll miss you, I guess," Violet leaned back, dropping her hands down by her sides with a shrug. "Maybe. Whatever."

"I'll really miss you," Molly revealed, a wave of emotions coming to the surface and threatening to make her cry at any second. "You're the first real friend I've ever had."

"Likewise, I guess," Violet smirked, stepping back out of the doorway and nodding with her head towards the left. Molly shuffled towards the hallway, looking out to see what she was gesturing at. She was mildly surprised to see all of the Murder House occupants she had come into contact with, standing waiting for her.

Ben and Vivian were the closest to her, smiling warmly and nodding their heads in goodbye. Reluctantly, Molly accepted the hug Vivian offered to her, still a little uncomfortable around the woman after her compliment for the _incident_.

"I wish you the best of luck, Molly," Vivian murmured in her ear, squeezing her tightly before letting go.

Ben settled for an awkward clap on her back, suggesting that if she should ever need a therapist, he was only a trip away. Constance Langdon stood further down from them, smoking a cigarette and offering the slightest of smirks. Her approach was much more regal and stiff, but Molly had never much cared for the woman anyway.

"Thanks again for getting rid of the old maid," she nodded to her, bringing her cigarette to her lips for a long drag.

"I didn't do it for you," Molly responded curtly, "but if you ever feel like meeting the Devil himself, do let me know."

Constance's smirk faltered at that, raising an eyebrow and chuckling under her breath. She was offended for a half second, but her own sense of self worth was too strong to be taken down by an off-hand comment from a teenager.

Her son, Tate was at the staircase, fiddling with the ends of his sleeve. Molly hadn't expected him to come out at all, much less on the day of her farewell. Truthfully, she didn't want to hear anything he said.

"I... I just wanted to say thank you, I guess. I suppose Michael's birth was my fault... thanks for sorting.. you know," he fumbled over his words, wondering what was the right and wrong thing to say.

"You ' _suppose_ '?" She echoed, taking a step closer to him until she was inches from their chests touching. "Michael was born _because_ of you. You brought him upon the world. Not Vivian."

"Yeah, I know," he nodded, dropping his head to look down at his feet. He looked for a second as if he might cry, but Molly was long past forgiving. She was now a shadow of the kind girl she was when she first arrived in California.

Rolling her eyes, she shot her arm out until her forearm met his chest, shoving him backward roughly until his back met the wall with a thud.

"I want you stay away from Violet, leave her the hell alone and let her move on like she wants to," Molly demanded, pressing her forearm tighter and tighter against him. Tate's shocked expression fell into one of annoyance, eyes narrowing at the Second Coming who had him pinned.

"I love her, you more than anyone should understand that-" his voice was cut off by her fist shooting out and colliding with the wall next to his head, the sheer power and god-given strength she was blessed with breaking a hole where her fist met.

"I mean it," were her final words, staring him down for a few more seconds. Molly was always taller than most girls, and her added height brought her directly parallel to Tate's eye-line. When she felt she made her point across, Molly finally let go and took a step back, casting one last glance around Murder House before shutting her eyes.

The next time she'd open them, she'd be at the door of Miss Robichaux's Academy.

* * *

"It's too soon," Mead said with a tone of finality, arms crossed over her chest sternly. The object of her glare huffed childishly, rolling their eyes and tugging the hood of their jacket over their head.

"I'll be fine, I'm not a baby," they retorted, glowering in warning, but Mead was still adamant.

It had been a week since Michael Langdon had randomly transmuted to her living room, landing with a thud on his side and blood immediately leaving a pool beneath him, pouring from a wound on his back.

Mead had been near hysterical, even wondering if the hospital would be a good option for the young Antichrist. But he insisted she merely had to stitch the wound closed to stop the bleeding, his body would take care of the rest.

Sure enough, after resting in a deep sleep for over forty-eight hours, Michael awoke from his slumber as if he hadn't nearly died, looking as normal as ever. Mead was skeptical, always keeping one eye trained on him. If she wasn't so concerned for his well-being, she'd have chased down the little wench herself.

Despite being physically back to normal, Michael was not the same Michael she doted upon. It took her a day to realise that what was missing was the childlike qualities he held - his eyes never glinted with humour, nor did he smirk like he knew something she didn't. Michael, for all intents and purposes, was as dark as one would expect the child of Satan to be.

Mead found herself missing him. She had followed Michael from the beginning because of who he was, but it was his personality that made her love him, like he was her own son.

Currently, he was attempting to leave her watchful eye to venture to a local store, for some alone time. His obvious wanting to be alone would have offended her, had he not been through such a traumatic experience.

"What if that little bitch finds you? Are you in any shape to be fighting again?" Mead pressed, following after him to the front door as he zipped up his jacket and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I don't think she's going to be a problem ever again," he answered cryptically, allowing the door to slam behind him instead of closing it respectfully.

The truth was, the intangible and invisible tether that connected the two was severed by the knife she drove into his back. Michael couldn't sense her presence in the world like he did before, it was so jarring he wondered if she had actually died. If fulfilling her purpose - or thinking she had, led to her own demise.

They didn't share dreams any more.

In Michael's mind, Molly was as dead as their friendship. And if she was truly alive, he wasn't going to track her down. She had only proved to be a distraction for long enough - he needed to focus on his agenda from now on, instead of either befriending and/or killing the Second Coming.

The store, in fact, was the very same one they had visited together the last time they were truly friends and shopped for their holiday. That trip was indefinitely cancelled, he thought in his mind, referring back to a moment of anger where he tore the tickets up after seeing them tacked on his wall.

Michael didn't have anything to buy for himself, and had to practically beg Mead to name something she would need so he could fetch it. In the end, she told him to get flour and eggs, to make him a batch of her special 'Devil's Chocolate Cupcakes'.

Michael located the items with ease, his eyes boredly scanning over other nearby items without any sense of feeling. It was as if he wasn't fully healed, his emotions having bled out through his wound.

"No girlfriend today?" The cashier, an ageing man who wore a sweater vest and glasses, asked. There was a glint of amusement in his eye that immediately sickened Michael.

"She wasn't my girlfriend," Michael retorted, his nostrils flaring as he tried to remain calm.

"You're a fool then," the man chuckled, scanning the items and placing them into a bag. "She was quite the little lady, wasn't she?" To make sure Michael understood his undertone, he winked in addition.

Michael swallowed harshly, eyes narrowing as he finally met the man's eyes.

"She's actually dead," he revealed, revelling in the way his expression fell into one of horror. "Say hi to her for me."

"Wh-" he was about to ask, his voice cut off by a cracking that emanated from his neck, brought about by the hand that Michael had balled into a fist.

Satisfyingly, the man slumped to the ground like a bag of crap, lifeless. Michael raised an eyebrow, reaching for the handles of the plastic bag and turning around promptly.

"So, this is free?" He commented, his tone void of any humour and filled with dry, dark sarcasm.

* * *

"We're so glad to have you back where you belong," Cordelia announced, soft hands cupping Molly's delicate cheeks and rubbing them gently with the pads of her thumbs.

Molly nodded, decidedly staying silent as the words left a sour taste in her mouth.

"You look a little tired, though," Cordelia scrutinised the dark circles underneath her large brown eyes, a newly perpetual sullen expression to her face. "I hope you've been eating correctly."

"Turns out I can't cook anything that doesn't go into a microwave," Molly shrugged, offering up a half-assed explanation to her appearance that wasn't a revelation about her week-long crying session.

"Well come along, I know one of the girls is making a nice casserole for tonight," Cordelia attempted to tug her towards the kitchen, but Molly simply dropped her hand with a shake of her head.

"I'm not really feeling up to it, do you mind if just go to my room?" She asked, trying her hardest to keep herself together.

"Of course," Cordelia hesitated before continuing, curling her lips in. "But.. you'll have to sleep in Queenie's room for now."

"Why?" Molly pressed, eyebrows furrowing.

"Queenie... she's trapped. In a... Hell Hole of a place. It's a long story, and this isn't the right place, but until I find a way to get her out, her room is the only one with a free bed," Cordelia nodded grimly, stepping back and heading towards her office. Molly felt uncomfortable staying in Queenie's room, and a little excluded. She didn't expect her room to be saved for her during her absence, but she hadn't expected to come back to no space at all.

Craving the solitude of a private room, she scurried up the stairs with her bag, promising herself she wouldn't break until she reached the bedroom.

* * *

Mead was definitively worried. She knew that Michael craved some alone time, but she didn't expect him to be gone for hours at a time.

When the clock struck six o'clock, and he had been gone since midday, the final chord also struck within her. Grabbing her car keys, Mead stormed towards her car quickly, hoping to catch a glimpse of him strolling around the streets.

She drove slowly, giving her the chance to look all around her. The pace she was taking allowed something else to catch her eye, a discarded plastic bag that rested on the sidewalk.

An ill feeling in her gut, Mead pulled in next to the curb and exited the car, using her foot to nudge the bag open and reveal its contents. She was sure her heart could have stopped when all she saw was flour and eggs - common grocery items, indeed. But also the exact items she asked Michael to get her, on the exact road he would have had to walk upon to get home.

Mead kicked the already broken box of eggs, stopping herself from screaming in anger. There was no signs of a struggle other than the bag, no blood or anything. But it was still probably Molly had gotten to him, and that made her _murderous_.

Disrupting the dark thoughts that overtook her mind was the shrill ring of her mobile phone. Mead fished for the device out of her pocket, not sparing the caller ID a glance before answering.

" _What_?!" She hissed down the line, hoping for a sales person that she could take her anger out on.

"Mead?" A small voice came down the line, one she would have recognised anywhere.

"Michael!" She breathed a sigh of relief. "Where are you?"

"I'm at the police station, they arrested me on my way home. This is my free phone call," he explained, voice sounding somewhat frightened. It seemed as if he hadn't lost all of his childlike qualities just yet.

"What?!" She hissed, already climbing inside of the car to venture onward. "What for?"

"Ahem," he cleared his throat, "the cashier at the store died, I think they're blaming me."

Mead didn't respond to that, knowing full well Michael probably was completely to blame, and not wanting to damn him if the call was being recorded.

"I'm on my way."

With those words, Michael handed the phone back to the police officer, albeit awkwardly due to his constricted hands, handcuffs adorning both wrists.

"Alright, kid," Officer Hansen gestured for him to stand up, immediately wrapping an arm around his elbow. "Detective Pierce wants to talk to you."

Half-dragged towards an interview room, Michael couldn't help a small sliver of fear running through him. He could kill them all in an instant, he recognised, but he had never been in trouble with the law before. And even if he could escape, he'd only be drawing national attention towards himself.

The officer urged Michael forward to sit down in a chair at the metal table, the detective already seated on the other side with a Manila folder in his hands.

Detective Pierce waited until the room emptied to talk to Michael, smacking the files down onto the table and standing up so he could further intimidate the boy.

"I've seen the security tape boy," he began with, "you some kind of witch?"

Michael stayed silent, deciding he'd wait until Mead arrived before saying a word. He assumed she'd know a thing or two about dodging the law.

"Cat got your tongue, huh?" He remarked, frustrated before the interview could even begin. "You'll talk by the time I'm done with you, believe that."

* * *

 _ **Hello again!**_

 _ **Love this chapter and getting to write a newer side of Michael and Molly - where Molly is extremely down and Michael is turning more and more dark.**_

 _ **So instead of being arrested for killing the butcher (who Molly saved) this is the point where Michael gets arrested, for killing the cashier instead.**_

 _ **I hope everyone likes it!**_

 _ **mo-rizzle - I'm so glad you think that! I loved being able to write Violet and Michael's reading and I hope to write more about them in the future. Thank you for being so kind!**_

 _ **Vivi H88 - Thank you!**_

 _ **Scarecrow- As much as I hated killing their friendship by letting Molly think she killed Michael, I'm so excited to change their dynamic because now their relationship becomes a little more adult and less innocent, I hope you'll like it!**_

 _ **Grim - Ahaha I laughed at your cat being mischievous! You're exactly right about Molly being biased, everyone's been telling her he's horrible but all she can see is her friend who she can laugh with and relate to. After all, Michael has even saved her life a few times. As for their reactions, Constance is Constance. She was cruel in the show when Michael died because she no longer loved him, she doesn't bear any feeling towards Molly whatsoever so didn't feel the need to coddle her. Vivian of course does care for Molly but she didn't realise how her words would have offended her and thought that she'd be proud of herself for fulfilling her purpose. It was extremely harsh from Molly's eyes, but of course the rest of them have seen all the wicked things he's done and are just glad he's gone. Thanks so much for reviewing!**_

 _ **Guest - I was disappointed with the lack of Michael stories! It was partly my motivation for writing this book because there was so few other ones out there! I hope you like chapter and thank you so so much! x**_

 _ **redashrose - Probably weird but I feel the exact same so no judgement here hahaha**_


	16. Hellmouth

**"I'VE SEEN THE VIDEO FOOTAGE, I ALREADY** _ **KNOW**_ **WHAT HAPPENED,"** Detective Pierce shouted with frustration, slamming his hands onto the table. He could tell the boy, if it were really a boy at all, was growing fearful. The teary look in his eye made him look much younger than his physical features did, but Pierce wasn't falling for it.

"I told you, I don't remember anything," Michael clasped his hands together tightly until they whitened, avoiding his glare. Pierce ran his tongue over his teeth and stood up harshly enough to rattle his chair.

He already had a theory in mind. Ever since Cordelia Goode exposed the world of witches and warlocks, he had been wary of them. It was almost as if the Detective had been waiting for one of them to slip up and use their powers for evil. After all, he believed no single individual should have been allowed to harness such power and abilities.

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" He couldn't help but grip the back of the boy's neck tightly, "do you think I'm falling for this whole innocent charade?"

It was reaching the eighth hour of their interrogation, and something had snapped within Pierce long ago. Unable to help himself, he flung the boy's head down by using his grip, smacking his forehead on the metal table.

It was an action he had never done before in his life, but Pierce realised that many things he did and said that day were out of character for him. Something within this boy's presence flared an anger within him he didn't know he had.

"Does that jog your memory?" He asked sarcastically, letting go of his neck and searching for an inner remorse as he watched his interviewee break down into tears.

Michael hated himself for appearing weak, believing himself to be one of the most, if not the most, powerful beings alive. But eight hours of a never-ending spew of insults and accusations had him breaking. The disgust with which the detective regarded him with cut him deep, and he was forced to look at his actions from a new perspective.

His murderous tendencies had brought him trouble countless times. And he could always blame those who abandoned him before for leaving him 'without cause', but there was only so much denial he could put up with before accepting that _he_ was the problem.

His grandmother left him because he was evil.

Molly left him because he was a murderer.

The strong urge of denial still had yet to falter, this time urged onward by the fear of what would happen if he _did_ admit to killing the clerk.

"I didn't do anything," he pleaded, wrapping his arms around his own body in defence.

"Except break his neck?" Pierce concluded, his tone full of assurance and cockiness. "You were the only one there, you _sick_ little fuck."

"I didn't even touch them, if you really watched the video it would show you that!"

Letting out a grunt of anger, Pierce rushed forward and gripped the boy by the shoulders, all but flinging him against the wall. Michael cried out in surprise, slipping down to the ground where he was instantly met with a foot to the stomach.

Fuelled by the dark aura Michael emanated, Pierce seemingly lost control of his functions, driving his foot into Michael's stomach again and again.

It had been eight hours since Michael's interrogation began. And he finally had enough.

He opened his eyes from being squeezed shut, his nostrils flaring with a fury of his own. Pushing the faces of the loved ones he had hurt from his mind, Michael used any mental strength he could muster. His anger added fuel to his fire, sending the Detective hurtling backward through the air until he hit the wall. Out of nowhere, his legs began to bend out of shape at unnatural angles, before he was soon lifted again. This time, he lay flat against the ceiling, gravity having no effect whatsoever as his arms followed the suit of his legs.

Sickening crunches filled the room, and Michael made sure to clap the man's jaws together so he couldn't scream. When his bones were twisted in ways that couldn't be fixed, he dropped straight to the ground, only to be hauled back up to his knees.

Whimpers of agony slipped through his curled in lips, his mind only being able to formulate two words that would turn out to be his final ones.

" _Save me_."

Pink mist enveloped the air where his head had been - Michael's final act of revenge against him had been one he had never exercised before. A so-called power he wasn't aware he held. The ability to make someone's head explode into nothingness.

With the immediate threat gone, Michael curled against the wall, soft cries falling from his lips at his ordeal. How eerie, he thought. How unsatisfactory killing had become ever since he had met Molly.

* * *

"Why, hello Molly-" Cordelia greeted, taken aback by the girl's sudden emergence into her office. Molly appeared somewhat determined, which was the most emotion Cordelia saw from her in recent days.

When Molly had originally announced her return, Cordelia knew by her demeanour that something traumatising had to have happened. She was a naturally reserved girl, and always had been. But lately, she was more detached than reserved, having no interest in anything other than spending time alone.

"I want to see Queenie," Molly interrupted her, her jaw firmly set. A sign Cordelia recognised early on meant that Molly had set her mind on something.

"Molly," Cordelia sighed, standing up from the table and formulating her response carefully. "You don't understand... Queenie _can't_ be saved. That place is a hellmouth, I don't want you venturing inside-"

"If it's a hellmouth it's the exact place I need to be," Molly replied stubbornly. "Delia, you have no idea the gifts I've been given. I could really help people, even if it's to send them on to the afterlife."

Cordelia curled her lips in, looking down to her feet in quiet contemplation. Who was she to stop Molly from trying to help? The girl possessed a power that hadn't been seen in her lifetime, and never would be again. If there was even the slightest chance she could help Queenie, wouldn't she want to take it?

"Alright," she nodded in acceptance, "but I'm coming with you."

Molly smiled to herself. She needed to feel useful again. The only thing she saw lately than the white walls of the academy were the horrifying images her dreams had returned to. She couldn't dwell any longer than her reason for being, if she could still help the world, then she simply had to.

* * *

Michael wasn't sure when his tears had started, or if they had ever stopped.

It had been a week since he stopped Detective Pierce, and it had turned into one of the worst things he had ever done. Every single day had been excruciating, bound within a cell he wasn't allowed to leave for a shower or exercise. The guards would spit insults at him daily, one guard in particular being the worst. Michael could almost taste the sweet scent of sin that Officer Patricks reeked of.

"What will it be today, kid?" He called to Michael from the bars, only receiving a view of his back as the boy kept his face buried beside the wall. "We have oatmeal, with a side of my spit, or soup. Oh, what do you know? That's got some spit in it too."

Michael didn't reply. He never did, knowing it would only encourage them.

"Come on, no need to cry, buddy! Why don't you use your magical powers and go back in time to stop yourself from killing one of our own?"

The jibes continued, but they fell on deaf ears. Eventually, Patricks left, all but throwing the tray of food into the cell. Michael heard the splatter of it as it fell onto the concrete ground.

His days were spent with his own mind, forcing himself to rake over every moment in his life that his memory extended to. Sometimes he would imagine that Molly was here with him, fooling himself enough into feeling her body against his as he imagined they would lay on his cot like they did in her bed - with his feet next to her head.

Michael imagined her telling the guard off for his sins, before proceeding to snap the lock open. Together, in his mind, they would race to freedom in Italy, where they'd spend their days exploring the culture and seeing the sights.

"Hey," a knock at his bars started once again, "there's somebody here to see you."

Confused, Michael finally gave them the time of day and turned onto his back, where his vision was met with the sight of an unfamiliar man. He stood draped in elegant black clothing, a black hat atop his head to set it off. What was most interesting was his smile, which was ever so cunning and full of curiosity for the boy inside the cell.

"You're not a lawyer," Michael commented, leaving no question in his tone.

"I'm a friend," he responded, taking off his hat and exposing a hairless head underneath it.

Any sense of curiosity left at his words, prompting Michael to return to the wall with a sigh.

"I don't have any friends."

"I think maybe I can help you, Michael, if you'll let me." Even the use of his name wasn't enough to rouse him. Although he did wonder how exactly he had found it out. Never once had Michael given his name since his arrest, something that infuriated the police.

"I saw the tape of your interview with the detective," he continued when he was unanswered. "It was _impressive_. I'm not with the police or social services, or any part of the government. I'm a warlock."

His words immediately spurred a reaction within Michael, who's eyes widened as he shot up in his cot, turning to meet the man fully. _Now_ he was interested.

"And I think you're one too," Ariel finished, lips lifting into a wider smirk at the sight of Michael's attention.

"A warlock?" Michael repeated.

"Your whole life, things have occurred around you that you can't explain. Maybe it was just a fleeting thought you had, an impulse, a moment of rage. But then it happened, like _magic_. A warlock is someone who can control that magic."

Michael knew he wasn't in any way right. He _knew_ what he was. But his mind wandered at the possibilities pretending to be one of them could lead to - a family, a sense of belonging, _supporters_.

"When that Detective was hurting you, what went through your mind?"

"Nothing," Michael responded after a moment of hesitation, cautious in case it was a trap.

"No! You were frightened and angry, so you lashed out the only way you could. You made those thoughts come true," Ariel insisted, knowingly.

"I just wanted him to get away," he admitted, horrified when his eyes began to water once more as they discussed the incident.

"How did you end up in here?"

"I was... defending someone," he chose his words carefully. "He said some things about her that I didn't like. The way he _talked_ about her... it was like he wanted to harm her. I never wanted to hurt anyone."

His last comment may have been a lie. He very much wanted to hurt the man for bringing up the girl who had left him.

"Michael," Ariel smiled cockily, "your life is about to begin. Time for us to go." He replaced the hat on his head and waved his hand, allowing the door to open. Michael stood up cautiously. It was something he could have done himself, had he not felt so helpless and lost.

But here this stranger was, ready to guide him.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Cordelia asks, for what is sure to be the tenth time that hour. While flattered by her concern, Molly was growing irritated.

Delia was still in awe, and slightly frightened, of how far Molly transmuted them. The Supreme was not new to the power, having mastered it herself, or so she thought. Where she was able to reappear in the next room, Molly could travel to the next state.

"I'm sure," Molly reassured her, allowing Cordelia to step forward first and open the door to the first floor hallway.

All it took was a step forward for the pain to meet her.

Decades of pain and agony hit her as harshly as a brick wall. Molly doubled over, dry heaving as tears pricked her eyes. It was the worst sensation she had ever felt, a million times worse than the dreams she saw nightly. Images of slayings and brutal acts flashed in her mind like a film reel.

"Molly!" Cordelia called out, grappling for her side and holding her up to stop from falling. "What is it?"

"I-I can't-" she forced out, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to push through the sea of emotions she was currently drowning in. Tiredly, she lifted her head, noticing heads peaking out from doorways. Cordelia followed her line of sight, not reacting whatsoever. Whatever Sight she held that allowed her to see spirits like with Murder House, had travelled with her to the Hotel.

"Come on," Cordelia demanded, opening the door again and putting her concern first. "We're leaving."

"No," Molly choked out, forcing her spine to straighten somewhat and leaning heavily on the witch. "Show me where she is."

Against her better judgement, Cordelia wrapped her arm around Molly's waist, half-dragging her toward the room she would never forget the number of. Using her free hand, she slid the door open, revealing the table that sat both Queenie and the man who held her here.

Molly stiffened at the sight of him, dropping her hold from Cordelia in an attempt to look stronger. She took a few shaky steps forward, and although Queenie was _right_ there within her grasp, her eyes never left the man she was sat with.

"Ah," he spoke, a thick accent in his voice as he regarded upon the Second Coming with delight. "I can almost taste how _good_ you are, darling. That won't last very long around here."

"Let's go, Queenie," Molly demanded, a strain in her tone as she held her hand out towards her.

"Molly... it's not going to-"

"Go with her, Queenie," Cordelia commanded, a swell of hope rising in her chest.

"Leaving so soon?" James raised an eyebrow, placing his cards carefully down as his eyes raked over Molly's appearance. "Don't break my heart, why don't you stay?"

"Go to hell," Molly gritted her teeth, her hand flying out with the intentions of sending the man flailing backward. Never had she encountered such evil in her life, and she was friends with the Antichrist.

However the surge of energy she dispelled was much weaker than usual, only overturning a few cards on the table as if a small gust of wind had come through the room.

Her eyes widened in horror, sensing the power physically draining from her body as a simple result of being here.

"I'm impressed," he told her, dripping with sarcasm. "What next? Can you move the table next time? That would be most delightful!"

"What's happening?" Delia whispered into her ear, not half as horrified as Molly was.

"We have to leave, now," Molly stumbled backward, gripping onto Queenie's hand and shutting her eyes, desperately trying to transmute the two of them to the lobby. But it wasn't working.

Letting out a shout of frustration, she tried once more, to no avail.

"It's not going to work, Molly," Queenie conceded, masking her disappointment.

"I can do this," Molly insisted, tears welling in her eyes as she tried once more. It was increasingly obvious that what Cordelia said was true. This was a _hellmouth._ The closer Molly came to hell and the further from God, the more her powers dwindled.

"No offence girl, you couldn't even move old March back here," Queenie smiled despite her sadness, gesturing with her thumb towards the man wickedly grinning in the corner.

"I want to help you," Molly's voice dropped to a whisper, on the verge of breaking into sobs.

"Maybe someday you will," Queenie inhaled shakily, "but not today."

Cordelia stepped forward to give Queenie another hug, as the pain encompassing Molly's body intensified. She had to get out of here soon, that much was obvious.

"Hey," Queenie called out to her, regaining her attention. "Don't look so sad, you have to go back and be the only black girl in the neighbourhood ."

They hugged once more, which was interrupted by Cordelia grabbing onto Molly to drag her out, watching as the Second Coming's face grew pale and her eyes fluttered, signs she was coming close to passing out.

When they disappeared, Queenie was left with nothing to do but sit down once more, reshuffling the cards.

"I don't trust that you didn't peak at my cards, March," she raised an eyebrow, expertly flicking the cards over each other.

"She seemed nice," he remarked drily, amusement filling his features.

* * *

 _ **Their reunion is coming soon, promise! This chapter is more important than you think!**_

 _ **vivi h88- Thanks!**_

 _ **sheshe073- Thanks so much! You're absolutely right, they were in a bit of a dream world and reality caught up with them. Oh believe me a good solid argument-filled reunion is coming up soon ; )**_

 _ **mo-rizzle - It's gonna be witches vs warlocks soon enough ; ) thanks so much! x**_

 _ **Scarecrow - I know I miss writing Violet's sarcastic ass I'm already! My plot will use major events in apocalypse but in the end the ending will be different from the canon, so Michael will be going to the warlocks now! Thanks so much, I need some Michael content too!**_

 _ **Grim - I 100% COMPLETELY AGREE. I think if they're gonna make a character as dark as Tate, they need to KEEP him dark and stop trying to give him some kind of redemption. This story isn't gonna paint him in a positive light, Molly is far too good for that. I can't wait to write Madisons investigation!**_

 _ **Guest - There are some witches that have a hatred against her but she'll prove them wrong! ; )**_

 _ **Hawke - I listened to that song I love it! And I'm so happy you asked me that, I have a whole playlist for this book. The most Molly/Michael songs I listen to are Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge, Pain and Pleasure by M()re, the Think Up Anger version of Smells like Teen Spirit and Million Reasons by Lady Gaga x**_


	17. Colour of a Rose

**BOOKS WERE ALWAYS A POINT OF INTEREST FOR MICHAEL.** Growing up sheltered by his grandmother had led to a lot of time indoors, and therefore, plenty of time for recreational reading.

The library at Hawthorne's school spanned multiple stories, meaning he was never far from a good read now. The two months he had spent at the Academy were some of the most eye-opening of his life - the books on magic, both light and dark, interested him to no end.

It was there, sliding his finger along the spines on a shelf, searching for another enchanting book that Behold found him.

"You're quite interested in our history aren't you?" Behold commented, arms clasped in front of him as he casually strolled toward the boy. It had been a matter of hours since Michael's display of power, one that solidified him in their minds as the most powerful warlock they had ever encountered.

Michael smiled shyly, still embarrassed from the earlier events which almost ended in freezing his mentors to death. But Behold wasn't put off, and found himself growing increasingly impressed by the young man.

"We just had quite the discussion about you just now," Mr Chablis continued when the boy didn't answer, making a beeline for another shelf Michael hadn't ransacked yet.

"Oh?" Michael asked, dropping his head. He worried to no end that they had caught him out, finally. That they realised he wasn't a warlock after all and would shun him, which would be a tough blow to handle.

Michael never intended to fit in so well amongst the warlocks, but he had never been able to stretch his powers as much before now, and he was positively thriving under their instruction. The way they praised his efforts, instead of telling him to stifle them, brightened him up each and every time.

Not to mention, power was becoming addictive. He didn't think he _could_ return to a lifestyle where he had to hide his abilities from everyone that didn't know.

"Don't worry, Michael," Behold reassured him, slipping a book out from the shelf upon finding it. He read over the cover once more, before walking towards him again. "We have big plans for you."

"What's this?" He questioned curiously after being handed the book, the title catching his eye. "' _The Supreme_ '".

"This book has everything you need to know," Behold encouragingly squeezed his shoulder, nodding his head before turning to leave from whence he came. "I'll be ready when you have questions for me."

Michael's eyebrows furrowed at the man's crypticness, examining the book carefully. It was dated, to be sure, seeming to be a history book of sorts like most of the rest in the library.

Returning to his room, he opened the cover and began to read, eyebrows furrowing further and further as he continued.

* * *

"Molly?" A voice called through the darkened room, curtains shut and blocking out the light of midday. "You didn't show up to breakfast or class this morning..."

"Yeah," was all the girl replied, still buried beneath a mound of blankets.

"Come on," Zoey encouraged, sitting patiently on the edge of her bed and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We'll go for a walk, how does that sound?"

"Horrific," Molly sarcastically answered.

Zoe rolled her eyes in amusement, relaxing slightly and letting go of her arm. Her eyes trailed around the room, with clothes strewn everywhere and last night's dinner plate on the dresser. Her nose wrinkled in disgust, well aware this was a product of Molly's mood. She didn't even let the maid come in to clean.

"Do you ever miss Kyle?" She asked suddenly, catching Zoey off guard. The blonde's eyes widened, looking down for a moment. She struggled with forming a reply right away, always pushing the thought of _him_ away whenever it surfaced.

"Sorry..." Molly apologised, frowning with guilt.

"No," Zoey shook her head, finally looking over her shoulder at the younger girl. She tried to force her lips into a smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "And yes, of course I do."

It wasn't a lie. The years may have passed, and she was a little older now than when she had first met Kyle - but Zoey didn't think she'd ever truly get over him. He was her first love, and a special one at that.

Cordelia still felt regret for burning him at the stake, for Zoey's sake if nothing else, but her hands were tied. Madison was a bitch, that much was true. But she was still a witch, and Kyle had murdered her in cold blood.

"That was a stupid question, you loved him - of course you would," Molly mumbled against her pillow, returning her gaze to the wall adjacent. "How about this, do you miss that Madison girl?"

"Why would you ask that?" Zoey breathed a laugh.

"Because she was a friend, you hated her, and she was dangerous. But is there a part of you that misses her?"

"Madison Montgomery," Zoey pursed her lips, "I suppose a little bit. All she wanted to do was kill me. But in a sick kind of way, we were friends too."

Molly nodded slightly, giving a sign she heard her words.

"Now, are you going to tell me what's going on?" Zoey pressed. Instead of answering, Molly flipped the blanket on her side back, gesturing for her to lay beside her. Zoey hesitated, before ultimately climbing underneath the sheets, smoothing down her clothes so they wouldn't get wrinkled.

When she was underneath the blanket, she rested her head on the free pillow and turned her face to look at Molly, who was laying on the other side of the bed and still blankly staring forward.

"I don't have anything, Zoey," Molly admitted, voice as quiet and soft as a whisper.

"Don't be silly, you have me. And all the girls. And Delia."

"I don't really though," she shook her head softly, "you're all sisters because you're witches. And I'm just the reject you guys brought in to stop me from using my powers for bad."

"That's not true-" Zoey began to protest.

"Yes it is," Molly sighed deeply, finally meeting the girl's brown eyes head on. "I don't have a family, I don't even really have friends any more. All I have is people that pity me or hate me. If I had a purpose, I could keep going. But I don't even have that. I have to spend the rest of my life knowing I have nothing to live for."

Zoey was speechless by the end of her rant, words of denial bubbling up to her lips and almost falling out. But she knew that wasn't the right thing to say now, and instead settled for wrapping her arms around her, bringing the younger girl in for a hug.

Molly clutched onto her grasp, fingers digging harshly into her upper arms - but Zoey didn't mind.

It was the first time Molly had truly given someone a glimpse of how she was since returning to the Academy, and Zoey hoped it wouldn't be the last time she opened up.

* * *

Michael waited at the door of Behold's office, his fist hesitating over the wood of the door instead of knocking outright. But Chablis could sense his powerful presence already, allowing himself a small smirk before lifting his hand and telekinetically opening the door himself to reveal the stiffened posture of the young progeny.

"I'm not getting any younger waiting for you to knock on doors," he called out, a hint of teasing in his tone. Michael swallowed, before taking a few steps forward into the office, his eyes wandering around with curiosity.

"Take a seat," Chablis instructed, gesturing towards the empty chair at his desk while he sat in his own, behind it. "I'm sure you have questions."

"Why did you give me the book?" Michael prompted immediately, not missing a beat. He stood stubbornly, waiting for the answer, until Behold gestured again for him to sit and he complied.

"Didn't you read it?" He asked, resting his elbows on the top of the desk.

"You want me to... _stop_ the Supreme? Whoever they are?" He guessed, tilting his head. Michael wouldn't have supposed the warlocks ever had ill intentions, but he didn't really know them for long.

" _She_ ," Behold emphasised, an undertone of malice in his voice that Michael didn't miss, "is Miss Cordelia Goode. And no, we do not want you to stop her. At least, not in a literal sense."

"Then, what?"

"We want you to take the test of the Seven Wonders and become the next Supreme," he announced, corners of his lips lifting with pride.

"But.." Michael furrowed his brows in confusion, "the book said there has never been a male supreme."

"And there hasn't, that's true. But you're not just any warlock, Michael." The boy panicked in case he had been exposed, but the glint in his eye was merely one of excitement.

"So if I become the Supreme...?"

"If you become the Supreme, the _Alpha_ , you'll be in charge of all witches and warlocks. Simply because you'll be the most powerful being alive."

"So..." Michael mused for a moment, endless amounts of ideas flowing through his brain that elicited a smirk of his own. "Everyone will be mine to control?"

"If you want to go all Hitler about it, then fine. Yes," Behold shrugged, watching with satisfaction at the determined expression that flooded Michael's face. "You're going to change everything for us, Michael."

He may have thought Michael was simply excited to be the first male to accomplish the title, but truly, he was busy thinking of all the people that would be his to command. _Powerful_ people, at that.

Perhaps this was malevolent intervention, and his own father's handiwork in helping bring about the end times.

* * *

Molly let out a slow exhale of breath for the seventh time in the previous couple of minutes. She didn't want to be here, and missed the comforting embrace and solitude of her bed. But she could also see the worry in Zoey's eyes. So fuelled by her desire to make others happy, she decided to return to class the next day.

Zoey was giving a lecture, but her words fell on deaf ears. Each girl was given a single white rose to hold before Zoey began to speak. They were all witches Molly recognised, but none she was particularly close with.

Occasionally, she would hear random snippets from the speech like 'Napoleon' and 'rose garden', but in truth, Molly wasn't listening. Instead, she focused her gaze on the soft petals of her rose.

When the girls on either side of her began to sit up eagerly, Molly decided it was time to listen back in for whatever instruction Zoey was about to give, and noticed her mentor's white rose was now stained red.

"Nothing is immutable when the will of a strong woman is applied," she smirked, settling her flower down and gesturing her hand towards the students. "Now, show me how strong you are."

On cue, the girls held their roses in front of them, pushing all of their will power into changing the colour. Meanwhile, Zoey trailed towards Cordelia, who was standing idly in the doorway, encouraging her to watch one witch in particular. Mallory.

Molly's brows furrowed as the roses surrounding her turned colour, while hers remained white. Using more focus this time, she tried once more. And once more.

Cordelia's eyes were drawn to the magnificent butterflies Mallory conjured from her fallen petals, whirling through the air until one swirled down into her outstretched hand, returning to its original state.

"My god," she commented, pleasantly surprised.

"She told me her grandmother said her bloodline stretches back to Salem," Zoey revealed. Cordelia turned back to smile with pride at Mallory, who beamed warmly at the response.

The interaction caused her to take notice of the other girls in the room, who's eyes weren't fixed on the magnificent display Mallory achieved. Rather, they focused on the white petals than began to wilt away and fall from the rose of the girl beside her.

As the final petal fell into Molly's lap, she slammed the stem onto the table and shoved the chair back in frustration, ready to leave the room and shake off her embarrassment.

"Molly-" Zoey called out, ready to stop her.

"I'll handle it," Cordelia placed her hand on Zoey's arm, giving it a light squeeze before following after the younger girl. They met on the stairs, Cordelia mentally stopping her from climbing any higher by placing an invisible barrier in front of her.

Molly paused in confusion, lifting her hands out and pushing against the wall with all her might. She turned to see the culprit, eyes narrowing at the sight of Cordelia at the bottom of the stairs.

Instead of arguing, she merely slumped down to sit on the step instead, expression appearing entirely defeated.

"You've been having a hard time, huh?" Cordelia mentioned, taking a few steps forward until she was on the staircase beside her and dropping down to sit. "That's why you couldn't change the rose, nobody can judge you for that."

"That doesn't make me weak," Molly disputed, looking to her with a saddened smile.

"You've lost your drive, anyone can see that," Cordelia spoke softly, reaching out and tucking Molly's hair behind the ear closest to her. "We just need to remind you who you are."

Molly waited for her to continue with an explanation, but they were interrupted by the slam of the front door closing. Immediately, Myrtle's large mane of red hair became visible, her head nodding towards Zoey and Cordelia individually to come closer.

"I'll be right back," Cordelia murmured to Molly, who watched with mild curiosity as the trio huddled together, deep in discussion about something Myrtle had revealed.

After a couple of minutes, Myrtle rolled her eyes in exasperation and turned away, heading towards the kitchen while Zoey returned to her class. Cordelia's lips were upturned with encouragement when she approached Molly again.

"Come along, sad girl," she held her hands out, her warm expression so inviting that Molly couldn't resist taking them. "How would you feel about a trip with the council?"

* * *

 _ **Ugh this chapter is boring af but let me build up the reunion pretty pleaseeee**_

 _ **So yes, Kyle is dead unfortunately : ( that was a massive theory for his absence in season 8 though so I feel it fit in here.**_

 _ **Molly's inability to turn the rose isn't her losing power or anything by the way, she's simply losing strength the more down she gets. It's a really dark time to write for her and kinda heavy so i'm looking forward to their reunion lemme tell you that**_

 _ **I hope everyone enjoys this and what's to come! x**_

 _ **Scarecrow - I actually thought his treatment by the police was so sad too! Like yeah he's evil but he's young so leave him alone : ( thank you so much! I hope you liked this chapter! x**_

 _ **Grim - Not so much an evil place, but Hell or Hellmouths is where her power just completely disappears. It kind of makes sense too, thinking of how the priest was able to hurt Michael when he was a little boy by speaking Latin. Murder House is a place of evil, but it's not a hellmouth like Hotel Cortez, or at least it is in this book. Does that make sense? Thanks for reviewing! I hope you like what's to come xox**_

 _ **Hawke - Awww I'm the exact same! I have Spotify playlists specifically for shows or characters because it helps me get more into it! Thanks for commenting! x**_


	18. Resurrection

**MOLLY DIDN'T MISS BEING BACK IN CALIFORNIA,** despite being miles away from her previous neighbourhood. The heat was blistering from the second their group stepped off the plane - but it only truly affected everyone except Molly and Cordelia.

The group dressed in black for the occasion, Myrtle excluded. The young Second Coming decided along with the other ladies that despite Hawthorne being seen as a brotherly counterpart, they couldn't be trusted with a secret of this magnitude. For now and possibly forever more, she was merely Molly Cromwell - a witch.

She tucked her sleek hair behind her ears, having had it straightened for once, while her eyes remained fixed on the men awaiting their arrival. Their smiles were encouraged by their excitement, but there was a definite falsehood underneath them that she didn't fail to pick up on.

"Are you sure we couldn't have made them come to us?" Zoe asked, annoyance in her tone from hours of travelling.

"Rules are rules," Myrtle explained, "and besides, did we really want all those men traipsing around our house?"

"I could have easily transmuted us here, the stuffy as hell flight was unnecessary," Molly grumbled, unusually negative.

"Ah yes, nothing speaks unsuspicious like a teenager travelling across states in the blink of an eye," Myrtle commented sarcastically, silencing herself after a swift warning glare from her Supreme.

The Hawthorne Academy wasn't much of an academy at all - rather two circular walls aboveground that hosted an entrance to a vast underground system beneath. Molly hated it inside almost immediately. The filtered air, lack of sunlight and generally dark colour scheme made her feel trapped. It would be easy to get lost between day and night while residing inside here.

Ariel led them to a large hall, the centre room of the establishment. A table was set up for the meeting, looking entirely ominous with a fire blazing in a pit behind it. There were four chairs either side, each witch taking a seat across from each warlock. The atmosphere was tense, and Molly sensed that there was a little animosity between the two groups.

"Let the record show that at the request of Hawthorne school, we have assembled an emergency meeting of the council," Cordelia began as soon as everyone was seated comfortably, expression tight and posture stiff.

"In order to address what must surely be a matter of _grave_ and pressing importance," Myrtle added, a sarcastic undertone in her voice.

"We weren't aware a new member had been recruited," Ariel commented, his sneaky glare fixated on Molly. Cordelia swallowed silently, before forcing her lips into an innocent smile as she relayed her pre-prepared response.

"I have taken Molly here under my wing, she has been with Miss Robichaux' for a long time and we're merely training her to eventually become a council member," Cordelia explained, placing one hand over another. Ariel's eyes did not lift from Molly, nor did she look away from him. She refused to be intimidated by the Chancellor, who was clearly suspicious of her presence.

"Surely she's a little young for recruitment? You can't be more than a teenager," Behold scoffed in amusement, eyeing Molly carefully.

"Molly is no younger than Zoe here when she first became a council member," Cordelia pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

"Our girls mature fast," Myrtle couldn't help but say, an obvious dig at the group who tutored an all-male academy.

"Proceed, Ariel," Cordelia pressed, growing impatient. His lips spread into a grin as he pushed his chair back and stood up, clearly for dramatic effect.

"Illustrious members," he started, "I want to thank you for coming and giving us the opportunity to share with you what we've discovered. We recently took in a boy here at this school. At first, we thought he was simply one of us, a warlock who needed our help and training-"

"But?" Zoe interrupted, already looking tired of his overly-prolonged speech. Ariel paused, looking towards her with disdain before continuing.

"The things he did were extraordinary, and after conducting the requisite test of his powers, we came to the conclusion that his abilities are so impressive that they rise to the level of Supreme."

His grin fell to a smirk as he watched the immediate reaction from the three woman, who looked equal parts surprised to amused. Molly simply sat still, not at all phased by the news, and unsure why it was something worth their time.

Cordelia chuckled audibly, leaving Myrtle to speak first.

"Did you say this was a _boy_?" She inquired, a disbelieving look in her eye.

"Ariel, are you serious?" Cordelia found her voice. "In all recorded history no man has ever _approached_ the level of Supreme."

Molly felt a burning sensation on her face, almost as if someone was staring intently at her. She lifted her gaze from the table to the warlocks, looking to each with confusion when she saw no one was paying attention to her.

Her eyes then trailed towards the upstairs landing, which was surrounded by a wooden railing for viewing downstairs. She was able to make out several bookcases lining every wall, but no one was there to look back at her, which felt wrong. Molly _knew_ she was being stared at.

Cordelia and Myrtle bickered mercilessly beside her, but she wasn't paying attention any longer. These truly were matters to be shared between witches and warlocks, and therefore held absolutely no interest to her. Despite what Cordelia had said, she would never be a part of the council.

"What is it you _want_ from us?" Cordelia demanded, jaw setting with rising annoyance.

"Where's the bathroom?" Molly asked suddenly, turning her attention back to the council finally. She received incredulous looks from every member, even those on her own side.

"Upstairs, it's the first door you meet," Behold told her after nobody responded for a minute. Politely she excused herself, trailing towards the hallway she first entered through to head up the stairs instead.

Cordelia's eyes followed her as she moved, trying to push aside the worry she harboured for her to focus on the issue at hand.

"We want you to administer the test of the Seven Wonders," Ariel finally answered her question, while her eyes remained on Molly until she disappeared from sight. A thought churned in her mind after he spoke, and despite promising to never administer the Seven Wonders until she was _sure_ again, she couldn't help but ponder if Molly would pass if taken.

* * *

Michael couldn't quite resist himself, he was giddy from the second he had woken up that morning. Today was the day the witches would be arriving at Hawthorne, to determine if he was powerful enough to take the Seven Wonders.

He had been instructed specifically to remain in his room and not venture the halls, the warlocks wanting to keep him hidden until Cordelia was persuaded to meet with him. But Michael couldn't resist any longer.

With his Hawthorne uniform on, he slid out of the door and silently tip-toed down the hallway. The Academy had never been so silent, and was usually always bustling with activity. But everyone was instructed to stay away today.

Female voices met his ears as he neared closer, something he hadn't heard in weeks. Michael flattened his back against the wall next to the bookcase, mere inches from being within their eye line. Although he could hear everything, it wasn't enough any longer. He wanted to see what these so-called powerful witches looked like.

Leaning forward just enough, he was given a full view of the witches side of the table and the four who sat along it. Michael intended for a curious glance at the women, to see if they looked like they did in the kids shows he watched years ago. But his gaze immediately veered to the right, where someone he had sworn he'd never see again sat.

Molly looked positively _radiant_ in the glow of the fire, a blank expression on her face and donned entirely in black. His mouth fell open in shock at the sight of her, his mind jumping for an explanation for her presence. It wasn't long before Michael connected the dots, remembering a conversation with the second coming herself about her origins - a girl's home in New Orleans led by a woman named _Delia_.

He felt like a fool for not realising before.

Her appearance was much less innocent than before, with dark clothes and pin straight hair. Michael had only ever seen three emotions in Molly - fear, happiness and determination. Her lips weren't quivering with terror, nor were her eyes bright or her lips pursed. She was simply blank.

He stared at her a little too long, long enough to see the slightest furrow of her brows as she clearly sensed someone staring at her. Snapping back into his discreet spot, Michael held a hand over his chest to calm his racing heart, almost like he was reliving the feeling of a knife plunge through it by her hand again.

The voices of the witches arguing against the warlocks met his ears, and fell deafly. All Michael could think about was seeing her again. He had never planned on it, and as far as she knew he was long dead. Of all the people in the world to venture inside Hawthorne, it just _had_ to be Molly Cromwell.

His head raised as he heard her excuse herself to the bathroom, prompting him to scurry back to his bedroom before she could catch him.

In the solace of his room, Michael was allowed a second to breathe and _think_. If he could, he'd have asked his father outright what to do. But he could probably imagine what the answer would be.

The blonde caught sight of himself pacing in the mirror, sighing through his nose and trailing towards the mirror with his nostrils flared and eyes blazing. Reminding himself of how weak he was the last time he saw Molly, he came to the conclusion that the next time they inevitably met _he_ would be the strong one.

What better way to prove that than to pass the Seven Wonders?

* * *

The second Molly exited the bathroom, there was a shadow in her peripheral vision. Paranoid, she snapped her head over and narrowed her eyes, but there was nothing to be seen.

Putting it down to one of the warlocks venturing the halls, she turned back around and readied to return to the meeting, pushing down her overwhelming gut feeling that something simply wasn't right.

Until a gust of air brushed by her back, strong enough to lift her hair up a little. Molly whipped back around, searching for a vent or something that could have caused the anomaly, but ultimately found nothing.

A prank, she deduced. One she wouldn't give the time of day to.

"Who's there?" She called out, voice echoing down the narrow hallway. The only thing to answer her was a creak of wood in the near distance. The hair on her arms stood up with goosebumps and a shiver rose in her spine. Something just wasn't quite right with Hawthorne.

"Molly?" Zoe's voice interrupted her, starling Molly enough to jump a little. Forcing a smile, she looked towards the stair case that Zoe was currently ascending.

"Yes?"

"The car's ready, come on," she nodded her head to the side, prompting Molly to follow after her eagerly. The sooner they were out of this eerie dungeon, the better.

Cordelia and Myrtle were waiting at the bottom of the stairs patiently, the blonde immediately holding her hand out to squeeze Molly's arm in reassurance.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" Cordelia asked kindly, walking side by side together towards the exit.

"Yeah," Molly lied, swallowing a lump in her throat. "This place gives me the heebie-jeebies."

"I agree," she sighed, stiffening slightly when the other warlocks and their students came into view. They were forced to bear their uncomfortable stares in order to leave.

"What happened after I left?" Molly questioned quietly as the elevator to the surface came into view.

"They wanted us to administer the Seven Wonders on the boy, but I'm point blank refusing."

"Because he's a boy?" Molly continued.

"Yes," she answered without hesitation. "Not because I'm jealous, or that I want it to be a woman, but because men are not fit for the role. I won't sentence him to death without cause."

As they settled inside the elevator, Molly's eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"I wonder why they thought he would have been powerful enough then," she mused.

The fresh air that hit them the second they exited the elevator was welcomed by all the women, who inhaled deeply. But the sight waiting for them on the other side of the curved wall would surely take their breath away none the less.

Molly naturally walked ahead, hoping her ill feeling would dissipate the further she got, but the sight of three figures standing metres away soon stopped her in her trek.

The sight of a blonde she had never seen before would have been curious enough. The sight of Queenie, having clearly escaped from the Cortez, would have been altogether shocking.

But the sight of Michael Langdon, dressed in black and smirking brightly, was what Molly had chose to focus on.

He looked somehow more confident and reassured in his posture, hair a little longer so it curled out at the edges and lips smirking like the cat with the cream. Michael didn't look at all surprised to see her, which would have confused her further if she hadn't been so overwhelmed in the first place.

It was hard to pinpoint which emotion was stronger; fear for his return and his subsequent anger at her; shock from seeing him alive at all or the most surprising of all - happiness. Any emotions she had been completely devoid of over the previous two months rushed to the surface with an astounding speed. The sound of a body hitting the floor behind her met her ears, but she didn't dare look away, or even blink.

The two girls alongside him rushed to Cordelia's side to help her, but Michael and Molly remained fixed in a stare off.

Molly had been a fool, she realised. A fool to think that a knife was enough to stop the Antichrist. A fool to think that this was anywhere close to being over.

* * *

 ** _I really dreaded this chapter for some reason but it's not that bad I suppose? Finally the action can commence again!_**

 ** _I hope you all liked this chapter and what's to come!_**

 ** _vivih88 - hope you liked it! x_**

 ** _Scarecrow - I'm glad you understood there needed to be a build up! I don't like writing those chapters any more than people like reading them but constant action and drama would get a little boring! Now that they're reunited I can't wait to write the power struggle between them now, I hope you'll like it xx_**

 ** _Guest - Relatable right? Ahaha. Things will be switched up a bit from the show with Molly in the mix, afterall she's just as powerful as him and she's not about to let him win now that she knows he's alive_**

 ** _Grim - completely agree! It'd be pretty hard for Molly not to be completely depressed, her life so far has been a series of rejections since the day of her birth. I'm excited too! I hope you like what's to come! xx_**


	19. Knife in the Back

**"CORDELIA!"** Violet's panicked voice met her ears, through the dull ringing that had settled in her hearing. Molly blinked rapidly as she broke from her daze, eyes watering from the intensity of her stare off with Michael.

The smirk he wore was cocky - not at all phased by the her appearance, leading her to believe that he knew already that she was there. Molly felt as if she herself could have passed out then and there.

"I do hope she's alright," he called out, not even attempting to appear sympathetic. Molly eyed him for a second more, wondering if she turned away would he disappear in a split second. The reality of the situation seeped back in, and she reminded herself how weird it would look if she stood still any longer.

A panicked edge creeped over her body - how would she tell them the Antichrist was still alive? Would they call her a liar? Would she tell them at all?

"Let's take her back inside," she quietly suggested, one of their guards approaching from the car to do the honours of carrying their Supreme.

"Believe it or not, that's not the first time that's happened around me," Madison commented confidently, lazily trailing after them. Zoe and Queenie shared a moment before going inside, hugging in greeting.

"I can't believe you're alive!" Zoe exclaimed happily, squeezing her tightly.

"Girl, you don't know the half of it," Queenie sighed, waving her hand. They chatted animatedly for a moment, with Molly waiting nearby for her own chance to greet her lost friend.

"Surprised to see me?" A voice practically purred into her ear, prompting her body to stiffen up. His cold breath sent goosebumps across her shoulders and shivers down her spine.

"How... how are you alive?" She forced the words out finally, slowly turning to look at him. Her breathing hitched as she saw how close their bodies were, shoulders skimming each other.

"You have to have died in the first place to come back to life," he spoke cryptically, staring forward until he turned to look at her as well. Molly wasn't exactly small, their height difference consisting of only an inch or two.

"So you faked your death?" She hissed with a fury she could no longer hold back, "I held you in my arms while you pretended to die? I _mourned_ over you."

The words were out before she realised it, and any hope she held at him not hearing what she said were gone when saw his eyes twinkle.

"You _mourned_ me?" He echoed, lips twitching.

"We were friends. I'm not denying that. That didn't go away when I slipped that knife into your back," she shook her head lightly, lips set into a hard line.

"Yes," he refuted, the amusement falling from his face. "Yes, it did."

They held eye contact for a while more, a storm brewing between them that was almost palpable. As much as they felt they were forced to hate each other at that moment - neither could deny that they felt positively _alive_ in each other's presence once more.

"Hey! Lord and Saviour!" Queenie called to her, breaking their moment with a swift turn of the head. Molly beamed breathlessly at the girl, hurtling forward into her waiting arms for a hug of her own.

"Hi, Queenie," she mumbled against her shoulder. "I can't believe you got out of there."

"Well, leave it to a white man to save the black girl," she commented, full of sarcasm that had the two chuckling secretly between themselves.

Zoe, Queenie and Molly trailed back inside, with the latter forming the end of their group. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder to see if he was following, swiftly looking away before he could catch her when she reaffirmed that he was.

Cordelia appeared restless in her slumber, expression occasionally crumpling and breathing quickening. Her screams began shortly after - bloodcurdling and earsplitting. She sometimes screamed names - mainly Myrtle, Zoe, Queenie and Molly's. Myrtle and Zoe tenderly cared for her at her side on the couch she lay on, but there wasn't much they could do.

Zoe looked over her shoulder at Molly, who was nervously chewing her nails as she leaned against the wall. The blonde wasn't oblivious - she saw the way Molly froze upon seeing Michael, the heated discussion they shared thereafter and the way her eyes were darting back and forth between Cordelia and him even now.

They knew each other. Or at least, knew _something_.

Catching her eye, Zoe nodded conspicuously towards Cordelia, hinting for Molly's intervention in helping her awaken. Molly nodded ever so slightly, wearily eyeing the warlocks as she made her way towards them. She stood behind the couch, hand slipping slowly down until her fingers could cup the Supreme's shoulder - filling her with the light and glow that Molly radiated. Cordelia awoke with a gasp, sitting up abruptly to be met with Myrtle's cool reassurances.

"What happened?" She asked weakly, looking around in wonder and apprehension.

"You fainted," Myrtle revealed, "and you had a lot to say about it too."

"I was talking?"

"Screaming, and calling out our names," the red-haired witch admitted.

"You left me out though," Madison called out from across the room, crossing her arms over her chest. "Not that I'm _surprised_. Did you guys even know I was dead?"

Molly had come to learn this was the girl she had previously talked to Zoe about - the ever infamous Madison Montgomery. Michael was not only able to venture into the Hotel Cortez to save Queenie - a literal Hellmouth, he was also able to take Madison - from literal _Hell._

One thing was certain, she had massively underestimated the extent of his power. And felt truly foolish for ever believing a mere kitchen knife could stop him.

"I can't believe it," Cordelia spoke breathlessly, launching up and darting towards the two to bring them in for a well-awaited hug.

Zoe looked back at Molly, who was still loitering quietly behind the sofa, hands resting on the back of it.

"Hey," she called out softly to grab her attention. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah!" Molly answered, a little too quickly. "I just.. it's such a shock seeing Queenie back."

"I'd bet," Zoe answered, eyeing her suspiciously. "But hey, you didn't have a problem helping Delia just now. Maybe your powers are returning to normal."

Molly's eyebrows furrowed in realisation, eyes darting down to her hands in surprise.

"Yeah..." she murmured, cocking an eyebrow curiously. "I guess they are."

"I want to see him," Cordelia's voice regained their attention, and it was then that Molly noticed Michael was no longer loitering on the balcony upstairs. Nor were the warlocks.

Dutifully, they followed after Cordelia as she ventured down the narrow hallway to find the others. Molly walked behind the rest, her hands clenching the sides of her black dress tightly. The thought of telling the others who Michael really was, and how she failed, terrified her. For these warlocks intended for him to undergo the Seven Wonders.

Perhaps he wouldn't pass, she thought. Maybe the test alone would kill him, and then she'd never have to worry about them finding out.

It wasn't long before they reconnected with the warlocks, and Molly's eyes immediately landed on Michael. Unsurprisingly, he was already staring at her.

"Are you okay? We were so worried," Ariel asked, sounding the exact opposite.

"I wasn't prepared for that," she replied calmly, "for seeing my girls again. I want to thank you for bringing them back."

Michael's gaze switched from Molly to Delia when he saw she was addressing him, straightening up his posture and smiling politely.

"I wanted to get your attention," he admitted.

"I suspect he's got that now," Chablis added.

"He certainly does," Cordelia admitted, "and now I want to capture all of your attention. I had a vision, I believe I saw the future. A _terrifying_ future - cataclysm, fire, death. I saw a man, but not a man. Demonic A white face... he was laughing."

Molly's heart almost stopped as her eyes snapped to Michael, who appeared fully engrossed in Cordelia's account. An icy blanket of fear spread across her back, for no one in this room would suspect that the bringer of that horrific future was the blonde haired boy across the room. No one, except for her.

"Something in my blood tells me that our fate depends on what I do next," she continued, while Molly tried to mentally send signals to stop her from that next move. Cordelia stepped around the centre fire-place, fixated on Michael, and every step she took the words in Molly's head beat again. ' _Just tell them_!' - her mind screamed at her.

"In two weeks time, at the rise of the blood moon, you will take the test of the Seven Wonders," Cordelia announced, small gasps resounding from the witches. But the Supreme hadn't finished, she turned her head towards Molly this time, eyes blazing with an emotion she had never received but recognised - _apologetic_.

"And so will you, Molly," she added, much to the chagrin of the warlocks. Molly's eyes widened as the witches stood aside, putting her in full view. "That is, if you both want to."

Michael stepped toward Delia, expression determined and even somewhat excited by the prospect of challenging against Molly for the title of Supreme. While he envisioned coming out triumphant in battling Molly - she was battling with herself.

Neither Molly nor Michael deserved to be Supreme - that title rested with the most powerful witch or warlock alive. But the question of a 'greatest happiness' principle arose - if Molly were to pass the Seven Wonders instead of Michael, she would be stopping his reign over the witches and warlocks, and maybe even halt his apocalyptic plans.

Cordelia knew, she had to have known something was off with Michael. If her words had been genuine, she wouldn't have offered Molly up - _knowing_ that the Second Coming was more powerful than any mere warlock.

With that in mind, and seeing the desperate look in Cordelia's eye, she began to walk towards her as well, gaze shifting towards Michael with determination as they stopped a few feet from each other. The current Supreme split the distance in the middle.

"I do," Michael agreed.

"As do I," Molly concluded, her jaw setting firmly.

"No man has ever taken the test, but whichever of you passes the Seven Wonders," Cordelia paused, looking between them both momentarily, "will be our next Supreme."

* * *

Cordelia didn't get a moment alone with Molly until they were halfway through airport security - and even then their voices were low. The conversation could have waited until they arrived back at the Academy - but Delia would surely burst if she didn't get to explain herself soon.

"I am so sorry I didn't get to tell you before," she gushed, tugging her aside just as Molly had grabbed her personal items from the metal detector rack. The younger girl looked at her in surprise, before shaking her head with a small, encouraging smile.

"I understand why you did what you did Cordelia, you don't need to apologise-"

"But yes, I do," Delia cut over her, "if you're not ready for this, or simply don't want to, I understand."

"At the present moment, I'm the _only_ one ready to take the test," Molly sighed, "but I'm not sure what you want me to do. Do you want me to pass it in the event of Michael failing, and become the next Supreme? Or do you want me to... sabotage him, in some way?"

"God, no-"

"I prefer Second Coming, or Jesus 2.0, but 'God's' fine," Molly interrupted, a growing smile on her lips that visibly eased Cordelia's conscious.

"I volunteered you because I know that you can't... _die_ ," she winced, knowing it was a touchy subject. "I'm not sure what you'll need to do just yet, I need to see this boy in action, and if he seems to be of pure intentions I'll need you to forfeit the final test and allow him to pass."

"Delia, I..." Molly began, eyebrows furrowing as she internally debated with herself. This would have been the perfect opportunity to come clean, before Michael's deception could go any further. But the current Supreme was the smartest woman Molly knew - if there was a problem, she'd sense it. She had to.

Once again, deciding against the moral judgement she was practically born with, Molly shook her head and forced another smile. She was going to stay quiet, and allow Delia to see Michael for who he really was.

"I just have a bad feeling about that guy," Molly shrugged, prompting the blonde to cock an eyebrow in agreement.

"As do I," she hummed, "and if it comes to it that you pass the test and he doesn't, we'll allow the warlocks to _think_ you're Supreme until we come up with a good cover story."

Molly nodded in agreement, their private discussion ending abruptly with the arrival of a certain newly-resurrected movie star.

"So," she greeted Molly, eyeing her up and down carefully, "Queenie tells me you're the new Jesus."

"I'm the second coming of Christ," Molly huffed, rolling her eyes in annoyance. "How hard is it to get right?"

"Calm down, bible basher," she held her hands up in defence, walking alongside Molly as they made their way towards the exit of the airport. "But just so you know, if it comes to it, I'm not helping you carry a damn cross up a hill."

"What, like the way your pretty face carried your career when your talent was lacking?" Molly fired back, surprising herself by the rudeness of her words. Her mouth opened to apologise, but she soon paused when Madison smirked - her expression actually looking somewhat impressed.

"We're going to get along just fine," she said, full of assurance. "Plus if you can do that nifty little turning water into wine trick, you're going to become my new best friend."

* * *

" _Well, this is a surprise_."

The voice cut across the room, startling Molly awake from a slumber she was sure she had just fallen into. When she realised it was still dark outside, and that she had just heard a male voice, her body snapped up in bed.

Molly's eyes immediately fell on the full-length mirror tucked into the corner - or more, the figure that was reflected in it.

Scrambling out of bed, her lips parted in shock as she stumbled towards the mirror glass, eyes fixated on Michael as he beamed at her. His smile wasn't the same one she knew, which radiated humour and playfulness. The new Michael was cunning in his appearance, smirking as if he knew something everyone else didn't. And he probably did

"How come you're only appearing again now?" She dared to ask. "I didn't see you in the past two months that you were supposedly _alive_."

"I didn't want to see the girl who quite literally _stabbed me in the back_ ," his smile fell, giving way to the true bitterness and resentment he was feeling.

"Good," she bit back, crossing her arms over her chest stubbornly, "because I didn't want to see the boy who stabbed an innocent man."

"I did that for you," he disputed.

"Seriously?" Molly hissed, posture stiffening with discomfort. "You claim to know me so well but yet you think I'd just get over you _murdering_ someone."

"I know you better than anyone else, Molly," he claimed, leaning one hand against the frame of his mirror to get closer. "I know that you are not as innocent or as pure as you'd like to think you are. You have everyone around you fooled, but not me."

"Well that makes one of us, because I _thought_ I knew you until you did what you did."

"That right there," he lifted his finger to point, as if her words were a triumph to him. "If you were as divine as your birth suggests, surely you would practice forgiveness? Your predecessor never shut up about it."

"I'm not here on this planet to forgive the Antichrist," she scoffed with ridicule, "I'm here to _end_ you. And my biggest mistake is not doing it that night on the football field."

"You don't mean that," Michael shook his head, full of denial but unable to deny himself that her words had cut deep.

"I do mean that," she nodded, suddenly feeling completely exhausted of the conversation. Where before she wanted to continue this dreamscape for as long as she could, now she hoped for something to wake her up. "I was actually starting to trust you. You were my friend. You talk about how I stabbed you in the back but you did that to me the _second_ you broke our deal."

Michael was silent for a moment, his eyes falling to the ground before lifting back up to meet hers, seemingly much darker than before.

"Maybe we were never meant to be friends then."

"Maybe," she agreed.

"I'm going to pass the Seven Wonders, Molly," he told her seriously. "And when I do, I'm going to take over this entire shithole of a world. Your Supreme's vision will come to fruition, and all of your friends will be dead."

"Shut the fuck up!" She roared, blinding hot fury filling her body.

"See what I mean?" He tilted his head condescendingly. "Anger and fury. I'm sure there's a deadly sin in there somewhere-"

Before he could patronise her any more, Molly lifted her fist and struck it forward, shattering the glass into cracks that left Michael's features completely indistinguishable. It seemed to momentarily shatter their method of communication, as she could no longer hear him either.

Despite the silence, she didn't sleep any sounder that night.

And by the time she opened her eyes the next morning, the crack seemingly hadn't travelled over to reality, as her mirror remained in the corner, perfectly unscathed.

* * *

 _ **Holla people. Back again with another chapter and I'm glad to finally get back to the swing of things after they were separated.**_

 _ **I hope you like this chapter! Thanks to everyone who read and/or reviewed last time!**_

 _ **mo-rizzle - that makes me so happy to hear, thank you! I hope you continue to like it!**_

 _ **ViviH88 - Thanks so much!**_

 _ **Scarecrow - Ahhhh I loved reading this review! Thank you so much for taking the time to write your comment it's soooo encouraging when it comes to writing again! Thank you and I hope you liked this one! x**_

 _ **Grim - So do I! It's harder for me to write her as an individual that's innocent and holier than thou, and it's entirely unrealistic to expect her to stay that way after what she's been through. Well the truth always comes out! ; ) thanks for commenting! x**_


	20. The Strongest

**"CONCENTRATE,"** Madison's sharp voice met her ears, hearing heightened from having her eyes closed. Molly's nose twitched in annoyance - the Montgomery girl was the most difficult of her newfound 'teachers', having no patience whatsoever for tutoring.

Molly would have rather had Violet to help her with telekinesis, but Madison was the witch who excelled most with that power.

"I had no practice when I did the Seven Wonders," Madison complained, fishing for a cigarette out of her tin box and placing it between her teeth while she looked for a lighter.

"Is that why you failed?" Molly retorted, opening her eyes to see her reaction. She received an eye roll in response, the girl promptly lighting her cigarette and taking a long inhale before speaking again.

"I don't know what to tell you, okay? Move some shit with your mind."

"I've done this before, okay?" Molly snapped, increasingly frustrated with her condescending tone.

"Good for you, Dorothy! But you also need to be able to do it at the drop of a hat, not just when your life is in danger!" Madison ranted back at her. Molly's shoulders were tense, trying to control the insults that threatened to fall from her lips.

After a few more seconds, Molly decided to keep her eyes open for the act. She stared pointedly at the lamp, that was stationed on a table directly in front of her.

"You'd think with the big deal everyone makes of you this would be easy," Madison raised an eyebrow, "hell, maybe Daddy didn't spend enough time on you in his workshop-"

Molly's anger snapped within her, but instead of reacting with quick wit, she merely turned to Madison and calmly smirked. Confused, the blonde looked back at the lamp, only to see it hadn't moved at all.

But as she tuned into her surroundings, she found that Molly wasn't aiming for it. Every other object in the room, bar the lamp and table, was now hovering in mid-air.

With a smirk of her own, Madison returned her gaze to Molly after a quick 360 turn.

"Good, I knew that would work."

"Knew what would work?" Molly asked tensely, suddenly doubting herself and her ability.

"Our powers are tied to our emotions. And you know what helps me the most with my telekinesis? Thinking of someone that really _pisses_ me off," Madison extinguished her cigarette in a nearby ashtray, flipping her hair back over her shoulder before sauntering out of the room confidently. Her work with the Second Coming was done, in her eyes.

Molly shook her head with a quiet chuckle. Maybe Madison wasn't as bad as she thought after all.

* * *

This time, it was Molly who was waiting for Michael to awaken. They saw each other every night, just like they did before. Each night was filled with taunts, but she couldn't deny their insults were becoming more like banter than outright arguing.

When finally she saw his sheets start to stir, she decided to call out his name and wake him up fully, for she was growing bored of sitting in front of her mirror and staring.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," she called, grinning with amusement when his head shot up. With a tired groan, Michael shuffled out of his bed, crossing the room and plopping himself down directly across from her, rubbing his eyes.

"Late night?" She asked teasingly, leaning back on her hands. When Michael pulled his hands away, she noted that his expression was eerily calm, a glint of satisfaction in his features.

"Oh, you have no idea," he replied, sighing happily as he thought of the events of the day.

"Let me guess, kicked a few dogs? Stole candy from a baby?"

"Wouldn't you love to know," he smiled widely, eyes glinting with amusement. He wasn't wrong, Molly thought. She really _did_ want to know, even if his answer would probably disgust her. She needed to be reminded how evil he was, or else she'd fall back into being friends with him far too easily. That couldn't happen this time around.

"Let's just say a woman did something that made me the happiest man on earth," he explained nonchalantly.

Molly struggled to keep her expression neutral and not give him a reaction. She wasn't sure why this was proving to be so difficult of an action for her, but she had never thought of Michael as a normal boy, who was probably out doing normal 'things' with others.

"Poor girl," she settled on commenting, her shoulders tense. She wasn't jealous, Molly assured herself. She had no reason to be after all, she and Michael _hated_ each other.

Michael's head tilted at her demeanour and words, failing to put two and two together for a full minute. When he realised, he let out a low laugh, eyes fixated on her.

"It wasn't what _you're_ thinking, I was talking about Mead," he told her, unsure why he felt the need to explain himself to her.

"I don't care what you do with anyone," Molly played off with a shrug, but her plump lips were set in a firm line.

"Are you jealous?" He dared to ask, eyeing her carefully for a reaction. Michael didn't know what he felt towards her currently, but he definitely knew that the idea of her being jealous excited him endlessly.

A week ago, he abhorred her very existence, and couldn't wait until the day of the Seven Wonders came to prove himself better than her. But throw in nightly meetings and hearing the sound of her laughter again, and Michael was finding himself increasingly thrown off course. He didn't want this short-lived time to end, but it surely would the second he passed the test.

"Jealous of what? Mead?" She asked drily. "Don't make me laugh."

"No, of the girl you _thought_ I was talking about," he smirked, crossing his arms over his chest knowingly. She didn't answer this time, merely rolling her eyes as if the suggestion were ridiculous. "Did you think I was with her? Doing _very_ sinful things?"

"You're talking about someone that doesn't even exist," she threw her hands up in exasperation.

"I never said she didn't exist, I'm just saying she's not who I was talking about today," he grinned wickedly, revelling in the way he was pressing her buttons.

But Molly was tired of letting Michael get to her, and instead crawled forward until she was closer to the mirror glass.

"You're awfully interested in how I feel about you," she tilted her head in false curiosity, eyeing up the barrier between them. "Let's see how _you_ feel."

Remembering that Michael could only ever enter her bedroom when she trusted him, Molly lifted her hand and let her fingers reach forward slowly. When it came a time where her fingers should have met the mirror, she chuckled as it went straight through, appearing through Michael's own glass.

Swiftly removing her hand, she was now openly beaming at the revelation.

"So you trust me, huh?" She raised her eyebrows mockingly. "And to think, I actually believed you when you said you hated me."

Michael's smile was completely wiped off his face, now replaced with an expression that could only be described as annoyance and embarrassment. Determined, he raised his own hand, flying his fingers forward he let out a short grunt when he actually felt the looking glass, blocked from reaching through to the other side.

Molly's grin widened further, standing up slowly, she stretched and pretended to yawn.

"This has been fun, can't _wait_ to talk tomorrow," she drawled sarcastically, revelling in his furious expression and teetering back to her bed. "Goodnight, Michael!"

* * *

"Now that you've mastered telekinesis, I see little cause for you to practice transmutation and vitalum vitalis. Seeing as you, quite literally took me cross-states and resurrected a man at his own funeral at the age of six," Cordelia smirked at the memory, recalling how the nuns panicked that Molly was a demon. How truly wrong they were.

"So today, we're going to touch on concilium," Cordelia continued, gesturing to Zoe and Madison, who were seated on either ends of a chess table. "This won't be a power you've used before, controlling the will of others essentially goes against your existence. But it's one of the Seven Wonders, and I need to know if you can master it."

Molly was uncomfortable with the idea of it, as Cordelia knew she would be. The girl wasn't even sure it was something she was allowed to do, or if her father would gift her such a power. But she had to help her Supreme, so she would try her damnedest.

Standing a few feet away, her eyes fixed on Madison's head, Molly took a deep breath before trying to force her fingers to move.

It took a couple of seconds, but the instant Madison's expression became mocking her fingers flew out and shoved a pawn forward.

"Jesus," she complained, looking at Molly with contempt, "more gentle next time."

Taking her advice, Molly turned her eyes to Zoe, repeating the process with more ease this time. This continued for a number of minutes, until Molly discovered she was able to control both Zoe and Madison simultaneously.

The game was over in minutes with both girls moving rapidly and at the same time, Cordelia stood back, watching with a proud smile all the while. She had no doubt Molly was going to ace the Seven Wonders, and hoped her decision to leave descensum out of their practices would be a wise one. The Supreme was most iffy about that test in particular, even fearing for Michael's fate in it. She didn't want Molly to conduct the act any more times than was necessary.

"Of course," Madison's complaints brought her out of her thoughts, where the blonde was making hand gestures at the table. "Make your best friend win and let me lose."

Zoe merely shrugged, "if you want a rematch without divine intervention, I'm down."

"As if either of you would have a chance without my mind," Molly teased, crossing the room to sit on the couch while the girls reset the chess pieces.

Cordelia eyed Molly carefully, watching her amused expressions as she followed along with the chess game. There was no doubt that the Seven Wonders had relit a fire within her, and she wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

All she knew at that minute, was that there was no way Molly could lose now.

* * *

The day had finally come, and the women had boarded the plane once more to travel to California for the definitive test. The one that would define their next Supreme, and Cordelia still wasn't sure if she wanted Michael to pass, or for Molly to throw the test.

But looking at her calmness on the plane journey, and the excited glint in her eye, she wasn't sure if Molly would want to forfeit any more.

"It's absolutely sinful we're forced to conduct the test here," Myrtle complained as they travelled to Hawthorne's. "If their ghastly uniforms weren't tragic enough, the humidity inside wreaks havoc with my hair."

"Tell me about it," Madison agreed with an eye roll. "I'm pretty sure they're all underage too, so I can't even get excited about the fact we're going to a place full of boys."

"That's gross," Zoe sneered, but Madison merely shrugged, so she turned to Molly - who was looking out of the window in thought. "You're awfully quiet, you don't even have anything to say to that."

Molly snapped out of her thoughts with a series of rapid blinking, looking back to the girls with a blank expression.

"You could always go for a teacher, but I doubt you'll get far, the only penetrating you'd get from one of those warlocks is them putting your head on a stick," she told the blonde, who scoffed at her words and mouthed 'we'll see'.

The possibility of failing hadn't occurred to Molly until now, approximately ten minutes away from arrival. She had mastered almost all of the Seven Wonders, but not all. Some, she hadn't even attempted. It wasn't her own embarrassment she feared, but Molly didn't want to humiliate Cordelia. And with the implications that would come with Michael becoming Supreme, Molly felt the weight of the day on her shoulders.

She couldn't afford to lose, not when there was literally lives at stake.

When finally they arrived, the warlock committee greeted them above ground, with Michael loitering closely behind. He smirked upon seeing Molly step out of the car, the sight of her like a cool wind on a hot Summer's day.

"We've been waiting for your arrival," Ariel smiled politely, looking uncomfortable with how forced it was.

"It's not like you could start without us," Myrtle fired back, nose wrinkling with disgust at the sight of them.

"Now, now," Cordelia interrupted calmly, ever the mediator. She returned his forced smile with one of her own, nodding in greeting. "Shall we begin?"

"Oh yes," Ariel answered, excitement filling his voice. "Right this way, we've cleared a room especially for this."

Michael lingered behind while all the others filtered inside, waiting until Molly reached the doorway, as she was at the back of the group.

When they caught up with each other, he joined her at at her side, suddenly looking less excited than before.

"So this is it," he mused while they walked, "now we'll finally know which of us is more powerful."

"You had to debate that?" She tried to play off, her voice cool and collected even though her thoughts were anything but.

Michael eyed her side profile for a beat too long, stopping when they finally reached the room beneath ground they were to conduct the test in. Molly met his eyes when they stopped, almost reluctantly. They stood for a second, allowing themselves to revel in the moment of absolute uncertainty. Where neither party actually knew for sure who was going to pass and who wasn't.

"Good luck," he murmured to her, giving her a small nod before moving to rejoin the warlocks.

Molly's eyes lingered on his retreating figure for a moment, before she moved off too. The room was relatively silent until all was set, leading Cordelia to step into the centre between each group and look back and forth between Molly and Michael, gesturing for them to come to her.

When they did, she cast a final glance between them. Michael and Molly stood facing each other, their eyes refusing to break from the other.

"Are you both ready?"

* * *

 _ **Next up, the Seven Wondersssss. I can't wait for the next one, does anyone have any theories on who's going to win? Remember I always said I'd deviate from the show a little. ; )**_

 _ **I hope everyone liked this chapter! Thanks so much for reading!**_

 _ **Vivi H88 - Thanks! Hope you liked it x**_

 _ **Scarecrow - No way, chills?! That's amazing! Thank you so much for reading and always being so supportive, I hope you liked this and the one to come! x**_

 _ **KyloRensgirl213 - It took me a couple days longer than usual to update it but here it finally is! Hope you like and thanks for commenting! x**_


	21. Seven Wonders

**"TELEKINESIS,"** Cordelia began, stepping back and allowing the powerful duo to begin the test of the Seven Wonders. "The ability to move objects with one's mind."

On cue, the witches and warlocks turned to a number of items left in the corner, set up for this exact purpose.

"After you," Molly prompted, allowing Michael to go first. She would make it her goal not to only pass the Seven Wonders, but to _excel_ in each and every one of them.

"You're too kind," Michael replied, voice as smooth as silk as he lifted his hand. A broomstick that was leaning against the wall suddenly shook, and then came soaring through the air to meet his waiting hand, narrowly missing Ariel's head.

The warlocks smirked, turning to Molly then with a patient gaze.

"Step aside, Harry Potter," she lightly shoved his arm, more playfully than maliciously, and raised her own hand. She wasn't aiming for the prop items in the corner, and instead looked up directly to the books that could be seen on shelves on the balcony upstairs.

One in particular slipped out from the bookcase, slowly and gently gliding through the air until it landed in her waiting hand. Michael cocked an eyebrow at the book she had chosen to fetch, its title reading 'The Book of Satanism'.

"Funny," he murmured, low enough only for her to hear as they returned the items.

"I do try."

Concilium was next; the ability to control another's actions. To ensure it was fair and neither side was merely pretending to follow along so one would pass the test falsely, Michael was allowed to control the minds of Zoe and Madison, and Molly took over Baldwin and Behold.

It made the act a little easier, she thought, to control the minds of men who absolutely abhorred the witches on the basis of sex.

Michael urged Molly to go first this time, smirking sneakily. He himself knew she would struggle with the power, if she was able to do it at all. Forcing people to do things against their will was more the Devil's playground than God's.

As Madison and Zoe twirled around the room in a dance, he was pleasantly surprised to see that Behold had grabbed onto the broom he had toyed with before, now sweeping the floor with a rather blank expression. Baldwin was soon to follow suit, grabbing a duster that had been left on the table as well and beginning to run it along the furniture.

"Enough," Cordelia called out, having seen enough. Behold immediately dropped the broom and let it fall to the ground with a clatter, reeling around to glare at the perpetrator.

"You ever make me brush these floors again, Miss Thing, we're going to have a problem," he complained, rubbing his hands together.

"Transmutation is next," Cordelia continued. "Be careful when enacting it, make sure to visualise clearly where it is you want to go." She cast Zoe a pointed look, who smiled sheepishly. It was no joke what happened last time, and if Madison had turned out to be the Supreme - Zoe wouldn't be here today.

Molly had this one in the bag, and she expected Michael did as well. Kicking things off, she disappeared into thin air and suddenly reappeared behind him, tapping his shoulder.

"Tag," she shouted, vanishing once again. He grinned cheekily as his eyes trailed the room, searching for the dark haired girl to get her back. He caught a glimpse of her hair in the entrance, and soon transmuted himself to follow.

She gasped in surprise as his hand clasped over her shoulder, whirling around and immediately tapping him back.

"Hey!" He called out in annoyance. "No hit backs!"

"Since when?" She asked, except now her voice carried from the top of the balcony, where her body now stood. Their game continued for a few more minutes, until Michael eventually caught up with her, hands grasping onto her sides and digging his fingers into her ribs. Molly squealed with laughter.

Even Christ was ticklish, it seemed.

Cordelia and Myrtle shared a concerned glance at the two's behaviour. They were acting like lifelong friends, rather than enemies who had only met once before. The entire scene didn't sit quite right with her, so she clapped her hands and demanded they move along to the next power.

Divination had been a breeze for them both, up until now they were fairly equally balanced. _Too_ balanced, Cordelia thought. This warlock was able to keep up with the Second Coming of Christ, something not even she could do.

Molly knew even before Myrtle had tossed the pebbles forward where the broach would be, making a show of placing her hands over the stones, when she truly didn't need them.

When the fifth test was reached, Michael and Molly hadn't even broken a sweat. But pyrokinesis was next, and she was notorious for losing control of any flames she managed to gather. Michael was born amongst fire and brimstone, after all, he would always be more comfortable with it than her.

They approached the side of the central fire pit together; for which Michael was tasked with igniting.

"I brought some aloe Vera," she whispered teasingly, "in case you burn yourself."

"Oh please, fire is a little familiar to me, don't you think?" He smirked with amusement as Ariel fetched the dagger that Michael would use.

"Ah yes, what was it Jesus himself said? That you were destined to set the world alight?" She mused, pouting her lips in thought. "Hasn't the ozone later been through enough?"

"True, but I don't have much need for blocking out the sun rays, do I?" He started to chuckle, trying to keep their voices down to whispers to stop the others from hearing.

"Anyone can get a melanoma, _Michael_ ," she rolled her eyes, "stop skimping on the SPF."

Their voices cut off when Ariel handed the rather ancient looking dagger over to Michael. A warlock tradition, she thought. Never has the witches she seen needed to draw blood to ignite fire.

The dagger looked fairly used, perhaps this was how the Antichrist would die - tetanus. Molly stifled a giggle at the thought.

Michael promptly slit open his palm without even flinching, lifting his hand over the empty pit and allowing drops to drip down. As soon as the blood hit the leftover ashes, a flurry of flames arose, causing the others to take a step back in surprise.

Cordelia nodded to Molly then, encouraging her to continue. It was important to recognise that pyrokinesis didn't just involve lighting a flame, but also controlling it.

Raising both of her hands, she poured concentration into the heat rising in her palms. The Supreme's eyes were filled with wonder as the flames began to settle into a curved state, almost as if it were inside of an overturned bowl.

Molly slowly raised her hands, sweat starting to gather on her skin from the sheer heat of the flames. Following her motions, the flames began to lift higher and higher, until they were completely out of the pit and gathered inside a spherical structure.

"Remarkable," Baldwin couldn't help but whisper, trailing along the room to catch a glimpse of the gigantic fire ball from all angles. Even Michael seemed impressed by her display, the corners of his lips lifting ever so slightly.

"Can you extinguish it?" Cordelia asked, even though Molly had already done enough to pass, she wanted to push her limits. Almost showing off in front of the warlocks, who still believed the girl was a mere witch.

With a stained nod, the muscles and veins in her arms bulging, Molly began to slowly bring her hands closer together, pushing through the force that kept them apart like opposite ends of magnets. Eventually she was able to clap her hands together and the flames disappeared, leaving a cloud of smoke in her wake that left the group coughing.

"Jesus," Madison muttered, arms crossed over her chest. "All you had to do was light a candle."

"Show off," Michael whispered to her, although his amused expression juxtaposed his words.

The sixth test had arrived, and Cordelia was struck with the burden it bore. She would be forced to choose whether or not she wanted Molly to forfeit the final test, but in truth, if Michael passed this one there would be little doubt he'd pass the final test.

Her instincts screamed at her that this was wrong. Not because he was a boy, or because he was a warlock, but because he was almost _too_ powerful. No witch or warlock should have been able to go toe-to-toe with Molly throughout the Seven Wonders, but here he was as if it were as much a breeze for him if it was for her.

Perhaps she was just jealous, she thought. Perhaps Michael didn't have any malicious or malevolent intentions and he was simply here to succeed her.

Sure enough, they both passed Vitalum Vitalis with flying colours, now proud owners of two recently resurrected mice.

"In they go," Behold instructed, holding a carrier box and opening the lid for the teenagers to place them inside. Michael did so carefully, wiping his hands on his jacket after.

"But..." Molly hesitated with a frown, index finger stroking the mouse's head, "but I named him."

Cordelia silently watched the girl as she argued with Behold on whether or not to keep her pet. Molly was so young, she thought. Did she really want to put her through Descensum? Would it even work for a being as divine as her? Molly wasn't going to Hell in the first place, that much was clear.

An idea struck her suddenly, one that would benefit both her if successful and decide finally on whether or not Michael deserved to be Supreme.

The boy in question held his hand out for the girl to grab onto, hauling her to her feet after she placed her new pet inside the carrier with promises of returning for him later.

"And so," Cordelia called out, gathering their attention once again, "we arrive at our final test."

Madison and Zoe shared nervous glances at this, the one that everyone in the room dreaded the most. Each of the Seven Wonders were dangerous, but an individual who died in Descensum wasn't coming back. They couldn't be resurrected.

Michael smiled smugly at the mention of the test, but Molly was more rigid in form. Flashbacks of the Hotel Cortez filled her mind, the agonising pain that flowed through her limbs and the helplessness when her powers were stripped from her. She didn't want that to ever happen again, but she tried to rely on the hope that she would be able to escape Hell without becoming trapped. She couldn't let Cordelia down.

Michael picked up on her change in demeanour, tilting his head in confusion before turning back to Cordelia as she spoke again.

"Today, I'm not asking you to perform this wonder. Today, I am asking you to conquer it. I'd like you to retrieve my dear friend Misty Day, who lost her own battle with this very task."

"That's impossible!" Behold interrupted angrily. "Those who don't return from Descensum are gone forever, property of the underworld."

"No other Supreme's been made do this, ever," Baldwin added. "This is not only unfair, this is suicide.

"Cordelia!" Ariel called out, "I need a word."

Calmly, the Supreme followed the Chancellor into the next room, preparing herself for an argument. What more could he say? Cordelia would merely point out that she was putting her own girl at risk too. She had no doubt Molly would be able to drag herself out of her personal Hell. She had excelled in every test until now.

With the group scattered around, Michael was able to catch a second alone with Molly to decipher the flicker of fear on her expression.

"We can tell Cordelia no," he suggested, "if you're too frightened."

"I'm not too scared to get Misty," she scoffed, shaking her head.

"Then what are you scared of?" He prompted, eyebrows furrowing.

"Would you be apprehensive if I brought you on a road trip to heaven?" She asked, a bite in her tone.

"No," he answered after a moment, catching her by surprise. "I'd continue on and destroy everything I saw. Like I was _born_ to do."

There was an encouraging look in his eyes, one that told Molly that in some sick way, Michael was actually trying to help her. Trying to encourage her to relax and think of her lineage, even if it was at his detriment. Moments like this, she realised, pushed her further and further away from ever wanting to kill him.

He nodded his head towards the sliding doors that Cordelia and Ariel disappeared behind, urging her to follow alongside him. Together they walked to the entrance, the doors opening with a nod of Michael's blonde head.

Cordelia and Ariel turned in surprise at the sight of Molly and Michael, standing defiantly side by side.

"It's okay," Molly reassured, sharing one last look with Michael before nodding towards Cordelia.

"We're willing to try," Michael added.

It wasn't long before they were laying flat down on the ground in opposite directions, hair fanned out behind them. The top of Molly's head was close to Michael's, and she allowed herself to find comfort in the occasional tickle of hair she got from his head moving.

The group gathered around the duo, standing on either side of them and watching carefully as they began to mutter the Latin chant to themselves over and over. Molly's heart raced in her chest, while Michael was as cool as a cucumber. In a way, he was just returning to a home he never knew.

" _Descensum_ ," the two whispered simultaneously, and the ground suddenly seemed to swallow them up.

* * *

The next time Molly opened her eyes, she sighed with relief upon first noticing a distinct lack of pain penetrating her skull.

The next thing she noticed was the fact she was in the midst of complete and utter ruins. It was as if a building, no a _city_ \- had just collapsed. Dust and rubble were the only thing to be seen for miles. The chill of death in the air was like nothing she had ever felt before, the cloud of despair and pain weighing heavily on her body and mentally crushing her.

Molly looked around in confusion, wondering what sort of personal hell she had found herself in. When she turned back around, a mound of bodies had suddenly appeared mere feet away from her. Molly covered her mouth in horror, a soft cry falling from her lips as she realised she _recognised_ the bodies.

The faces of Cordelia, Zoe, Queenie - even the new witch that had joined the academy, Coco. Their lifeless eyes all seemed to land on her, as if they were blaming her for their impending death while being killed.

"They look rather cold, don't you think," a familiar voice sounded from behind her, but Molly was too absorbed in her own sobs and tears to take notice of it as she dropped to her knees.

"What have you done?" Molly managed to ask between whimpers, tears blurring her vision of the bodies before her.

"What have _I_ done?" Michael's voice repeated, a shocked undertone to it that caused her to look up when he crouched beside her. He was the spitting image of the Antichrist, but Molly _knew_ this wasn't the Michael she had come to know. This was an imposter.

He lifted a hand and curled it delicately around her cheek, his own eyes beginning to water.

"This is something that _you've_ done," he informed her, eyes boring into hers. Molly reeled at his words, slapping his arm to get it away from her. Shakily, she rose to her feet.

"I would never do this to anyone, much less the people people I consider my family," she said assuredly, although there was a niggling feeling of doubt within her that she couldn't quite place.

"Then look at your hands," Michael whispered into her ear, a wry smile forming on his lips as she slowly lifted her blood-soaked hands in front of her face.

Molly screamed in horror at the sight, stumbling back a few steps and starting to cry once more. In a blind moment of panic, she shot her hand out towards Michael's imposter, forcing all of her energy to send him flailing backwards.

She wasn't sure why she thought that wouldn't work, but it did. A howl of pain erupted from across the lot, prompting her to quickly scurry towards where Michael had landed in a heap. Except now, a metal rod was now impaled through his chest.

"No! No, please, no!" Molly screamed out in horror at what she had done, dropping down beside Michael and placing her hands beside the bleeding wound.

"W-why would you do that?" He tried to speak through the blood rising up his throat.

"I- I didn't mean to! I swear!"

"You're the only monster that's here, Molly," he continued, growing weaker by the second. "You've destroyed the world and now you've destroyed us."

Just like that, his head fell limply back against the ground, and her sobs became harder than ever. She closed her eyes as tears overcame them, but opened them again upon feeling a shift in the wind.

She was right back where she started moments ago, next to the bodies.

"They look rather cold, don't you think."

* * *

Michael shot up from the ground with a gasp, feeling the life force seep back into his body. His muscles and head ached from how much he exerted himself that day, but it would be worth it for the look he was about to see on Cordelia and Molly's face.

While the warlocks flooded around him, the witches suddenly let out shrieks of joy as the blonde woman he had just rescued suddenly appeared on the ground beside him. They flocked to her, helping her off the ground and hugging her mercilessly. None of them spared Michael a glance yet, as he tiredly tried to stand up, with the help of a proud Ariel.

When he did, the sight of figure caught the corner of his eye, and he dizzily turned to see that Molly still hadn't woken up yet. His triumphant, yet exhausted, expression suddenly became alert, and dare he admit it, concerned.

Cordelia stepped back from doting on Misty when she too began to realise her ward had yet to wake up.

"Did you see her down there?" Cordelia prompted, eyes slowly growing wider.

"No," Michael gritted his teeth, meeting the Supreme's eyes. "How long has it been?"

"Almost an hour," Zoe admitted quietly, stepping closer to Molly and crouching beside her, fearful of her disintegrating into dust at any second.

Call it a hunch, but Michael knew that Molly was in trouble. He knew she was apprehensive about this test in particular for a reason, and if she was taking this long to wake up - perhaps she wasn't going to at all.

With a jolt he dropped back down to the ground, fully prepared to delve back into the underworld. Ariel shot his hand out and gripped the blonde's shoulder.

"Michael, no!" He demanded, full of concern. "You've exhausted yourself today, don't try and kill yourself by bringing yet another person back!"

He dropped his voice to a whisper to stop the current Supreme from hearing, "you've won, she knew the risks when she agreed to take part. _You_ were the strongest one."

Michael's eyes narrowed at the Grand Chancellor, stubbornly staring at him while he lay back down to get into position.

"Don't ever tell me what to do," he told him, as if _he_ were the superior. But given that Michael had just passed the Seven Wonders, perhaps he already did outrank Ariel.

Muttering the phrases in Latin to himself, he allowed the ground to swallow him up and return him to the underworld.

* * *

 **So... Molly lost!**

 **This was kind of preluded to when she tried to save Queenie before. Molly's a powerful ass b****, but it's only right she'd crumble in Hell where her connection to God would be completely severed.**

 **But never fear, Michael's here ; )**

 **Thanks so much for reading!**

 **Guest - I hope you liked it!**

 **Grim - It was soooo close to being a tie! And you were spot on about the Queenie thing. It just wouldn't make sense for Molly to even get access to Misty's personal hell; nevermind try and escape her won. I hope you liked this chapter and thanks for commenting! x**


	22. The Sky Opened Up

**"NO!"** Molly screamed, lowering her hands down as Michael's body flung through the air and met the wrong end of a jagged metal pipe, sticking haphazardly from the ground. The view felt familiar, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out why. It dawned on Molly that she didn't even want to push him back, but her hands felt out of her control.

She hopped over rubble and bricks to get to him, barely acknowledging the dust that lingered in the air and settled on the inside of her nostrils. All she could focus on, was the blood that seeped steadily from his lips, his hands cupping around the metal object sticking out from his chest. Molly dropped down to her knees, expression frozen with horror at the sight.

"I thought we were friends..." he managed to say, coughing in between words. His word broke through to her, eliciting a series of sobs that wracked her body and left her cheeks coated in a layer of tears.

"I'm sorry!" She cried out, gripping onto his hand for support and in turn, covering her own palms with blood. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean-... I would never-"

"It would take a lot more than a piece of metal to stop me, darling," an eerily similar voice resounded from behind her, prompting her to whip around, stumbling slightly. Out of nowhere, Michael had reappeared mere feet away from her, without any sign of injury or blood.

Confused, Molly turned back to check if the body dying beneath her was still there, and confirm that this had been some kind of trick. But to her further surprise, the original Michael was still there. Cold and lifeless, having bled out from his wound. Now, there were two Michaels. And only one could be the real one.

"What is this?" She scrambled backward, away from the body, jumping up onto her feet and rearing around to face the new imposter. Michael's confident expression wavered at the sight of her own - which was full of fear, having completely succumbed to the Hell she had been thrust into.

"Molly, I'm here to get you out of here," he offered out his hand, mentally noting the landscape of her 'worst nightmare'. Molly's biggest fear was killing everyone she loved, including the witches, and apparently him too. Her eyes searched his expression desperately, looking for any sign of deceit, but she could find none. In fact, when she met his eyes, all she could find was comfort. Something that was completely lacking from the imposter laying dead by her feet.

"Michael...?" She questioned aloud, memories of random displays of power seeping back into her. She had came here for a purpose, she remembered.

"It's me, Molly," he nodded once, slowly taking steps toward her to avoid scaring her off. "Listen to me, we need to get out of here-"

"You're breaking the rules," Cordelia's voice met their ears, both heads turning to the source and watching in shock as the blonde's body began to twitch and lift up. Her decomposing skin remained, but life breathed back into the Supreme as she stood up and stared right at the duo attempting to escape. "You can't let her go."

Whoever it was, Molly realised, it wasn't Cordelia.

"I think you'll find as the Son of Satan, I can do what I want," he replied cockily, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

"The Son of Satan who wants to save the Daughter of the False God?" She questioned, lips sneering in disgust. "She is trapped here. No longer an obstacle in your plans."

"I don't need others doing my dirty work for me," he scoffed, hand flying out to grab onto Molly's arm so they could leave. Before he could, Fake Cordelia spoke again.

"It would be the perfect cover," she mused, eyes terrifyingly black and covered in a murky white colour. "Either way, she's not leaving. She ventured into our home and expected no repercussions, do you really think _He_ would let the Second Coming of Christ just walk out of here?"

Michael paused, prompting Molly to look towards him with what could only be described as a look of heartbreak. He seemed to be debating the demon's words, for he recognised that it didn't matter whether or not he won the Seven Wonders and would now be named Supreme. Molly wouldn't stop until he was dead. _Couldn_ ' _t_ stop until he was dead.

"You're right," he admitted, eyes falling to the ground momentarily as tears began to emerge in Molly's eyes. With the attention on Michael, she quickly slipped down and gripped onto a sharp piece of metal that was laying by her feet, clutching it securely in her hand. "He's not going to let her leave. _I am_."

With a sudden, swift move, he had flung his hand forward, fingers directed at Cordelia. The blonde's cocky smirk fell to one of pain and later agony, as Michael slowly began to explode the demon from inside. Within mere seconds, the body had combusted, leaving nothing but a pink, bloody mist in her wake. Molly's eyes snapped over to Michael, heart falling in her chest as she realised he wasn't going to betray her. In fact, he was going to betray others _for_ her. They held eye contact for a moment - Molly's eyes full of gratitude and surprise, and Michael's full of protectiveness and determination.

A snap to the left caught their attention, dragging their gazes over to see that the other dead bodies from the mound were now moving too. The faces of Violet, Queenie, Zoe and others she had come to love were sneering in anger as they cracked their limbs while clambering to their feet. A thought out of seemingly nowhere rushed to Molly's mind, urging her hand to unclasp her grip around the metal and lift it with her other hand. Poised between her fingers, she allowed the action visualised in her brain to manifest, and dragged the sharpened edge across the soft skin of her palm. In its wake was a long, bleeding gash.

"Molly?" Michael asked, voice shaky from the stress of the situation and out of concern for her actions. "What are you doing?"

As the blood pooled in her hand, a serene expression washed across Molly's face. Instincts taking over, she balled her hand into a fist and held her arm out, waiting until drops of blood dripped off the side and onto the ground beneath. The demons that had been hurtling towards them suddenly stopped, clutching their heads protectively as a fire appeared out of nowhere, starting off in every distance that she could see. It spread rapidly, devouring everything in its path as it closed in on the group. The demons squealed in voices that were unlike the faces they had been designed after, and Molly finally recognised what her blood was doing.

It was destroying them, and this wretched personal hell concocted especially for her. The flames were close enough for their heat to be felt, and Michael had enough of watching their approach. He flung his hand out and gripped her forearm tightly, willing his already weakened body to drag them away. The last thing they saw before their world went black, was the fire engulfing the demons whole.

* * *

Molly awoke with a gasp, shooting into a sitting position and clasping for her chest to rid herself of a choking sensation. Cordelia cried out with relief and dropped to her knees next to the dark haired girl, clutching her within her grasp tightly and holding back sobs.

The guilt that wracked her body was beyond belief, if Molly never returned and it would be at her own hand - she'd never forgive herself.

Michael's awakening was less dramatic, his whole body aching from the strain he exerted. Letting out a puff of air, he slowly and shakily lifted himself up. The warlock's flocked to his side to coddle him, but the blonde boy waved them off.

Cordelia and Myrtle helped Molly stand up, tenderly checking her over to make sure she was alright. The girl appeared stunned, almost as if she was surprised she had made it back at all. Her eyes met Michael's gaze from across the room, heart flooding with gratitude as she gave him the smallest of nods, to which he smirked to in response.

The girls, all except Madison and Misty, crowded around her with hugs of relief that she was safely back. But Molly didn't miss the disappointment they tried to hide either. She had failed, and she almost lost more than just the Seven Wonders.

But Misty's expression was neither disappointed nor relieved, as she watched the way Michael's eyes lingered on the unfamiliar girl with a fearful expression.

"Cordelia!" Myrtle gasped suddenly, all in the room whipping around to witness their Supreme's nose begin to drip with blood.

" _Delia_ ," Molly whispered with worry, rushing towards her and ignoring the sudden dizziness that encompassed her. "What's happening?"

"What always happens when a new Supreme rises," Ariel spoke proudly, with a total lack of pity in his voice. "The old one fades away."

Molly couldn't stop herself, and whirled around on the spot to give him the harshest glare she could muster.

"Shut up, Ariel. Before I _shut_ you up," she threatened, defensively standing in front of Cordelia.

"We demand what's rightfully ours!" He retorted.

" _Michael_ won the test, not you. Check your tone of superiority."

"You're a pathetic, pompous ass!" Myrtle added in a shout, holding Cordelia up by her arm.

"I did _everything_ you asked," Michael spoke finally, physically appearing stronger than he did moments before. He pointedly ignored Molly's eyes as he spoke, not wanting to see the anger that had probably flooded them. "I descended into Hell and I did what you couldn't. I brought her back. I passed the Seven Wonders, unless you want to add another one."

Now would be the perfect opportunity to expose him as imposter, Molly realised. To make the others see what she could. That he was here to bring about the end times, not manage a coven.

But a sudden twist in her chest reminded her that Michael _wasn't_ evil. He descended into Hell once for the purpose of the test, and once again to save her. Molly would have been left in an endless loop for infinity, suffering her worst version of hell. But Michael brought her back - knowing there was a chance she would still continue to try and stop him.

"No," Cordelia spoke out, voice raspy from the obvious pain she was in. "There can be no doubt. You are our next Supreme."

* * *

Much to Myrtle's disapproval, the Warlocks had offered spare bed chambers for the witches to stay in until it's ex-Supreme and Molly felt able enough to travel again, and Cordelia accepted.

That night, Molly hoped to see Michael again. But not through the hazy reflection of a mirror. Readjusting her nightdress, she slipped out into the hallway and followed her way down until she reached the bedroom she knew he would be in. The invisible tether between them was reattached, she could always tell when he was near.

Timidly, she knocked on his door, feeling ridiculous for using manners at all giving their circumstances. Nonetheless, Michael opened up, giving her a once over before tilting his head.

"This is a pleasant surprise," he commented, "what can I do for you, lord and saviour?"

"You saved me," she jumped straight to the point, expression stony with determination. Michael paused for a second, before eventually stepping back and opening the door wider for her to enter.

Molly stepped into his room without hesitation, crossing her arms over her chest as she took a glance around at his bare minimum surroundings. Satan's child wasn't into interior design, clearly.

Eventually, she turned back around to face him, one eyebrow raised and waiting for a response to his question.

"I did," he agreed, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Why?" She asked, "you had me right where you wanted me. Trapped. Unable to stop you and your wicked plans."

"Probably for the same reason your own personal hell involved losing me," he cocked an eyebrow confidently, taking a few strides forward to close the distance between them.

"I didn't manifest that place, it has nothing to do with me-"

"Bullshit," he chuckled. "The personal hells emerge from our deepest fears. And yours is split between killing your friends who raised you, and killing me. Face it, Molly, you don't want to kill me any more than I want to kill you."

"How did you come to that conclusion?" She forced an amused smile. "The last time we were alone, I ran a kitchen knife through you."

"And you mourned me for it," he pointed out, lifting his hand up and tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "You might hate me for murdering that priest, Molly, but you can't hate me for wanting to murder you. Because I don't. And I don't think I'll ever bring myself to."

She was overwhelmed by the confessions he was making, her mind jumping to disregard them as tricks. But he had been clearly affected by his second trip to Hell, and still made it to save her. Of his own accord, according to Zoe.

"I don't know what you expect from me," she muttered, casting her eyes away from his piercing gaze.

"I don't expect anything from you," he shook his head, "I just want you to admit that you feel the same. That I'm not alone in this."

"Well I'm not going to do that," she scoffed. "I have no idea what you're talking about-"

"Molly," he interrupted her, cupping her cheeks with his surprisingly warm hands and forcing her to look at him. "This isn't a trick, or a joke. This is me telling you, that I care for you. I don't care if you're God himself. When I'm with you we're not the Second Coming and the Antichrist. We're just Michael and Molly."

His words caused her chest to clench up, a wave of emotions washing over her - ranging from guilt, to denial. But the most overwhelming sensation she had at that moment was the small niggle in her head that told her he was right. She did care about him too. And that he was the only person who she could truly relax around and be herself - which was perhaps the most ironic thing in the world.

Michael suddenly began to lean in, as if they were opposite ends of a magnet being drawn together. Molly felt the urge just as much as he did. Her brain swarmed with wonder, wonder at how it would feel to kiss Michael. The girl had never kissed anyone in her life, and had no idea if he had.

Would it burn like it did the first time they touched? Would it disgust her? Would she... _like_ it?

With that thought, she snapped her fluttering eyes open and flew back, dragging the hands he had cupped around her cheeks down and storming past him in a fluster. When she left, she left them both with burning cheeks and equally as frustrated as each other.

* * *

Molly liked Stevie Nicks, she came to realise. Sometimes Cordelia would play her songs around the house, a wistful expression on her face. She never realised at that point that it was out of dedication to Misty, the swamp girl who was definitely close to being Fleetwood Mac's number one fan.

How Cordelia knew Stevie's personal number and was able to reign her in within a day, she had no idea. Pop culture held no relevance to Molly, but she imagined calling in a superstar was close to impossible.

She didn't miss how the ex-Supreme's face lit up watching Misty's beaming expression, and smirked to herself. Vaguely, she wondered if the reason Cordelia wanted Misty back so bad was more than just saving a fellow sister witch.

As Stevie's raspy tones lingered in the air, she couldn't help but feel the eyes on her again. Turning her head from the beam she leaned against, sure enough he was there, staring from the balcony above. She expected him to be angry, but if anything, Michael just appeared lost. Like he was keeping a distance from her on purpose, for her sake. The thought stung her heart, that a man like Michael who could have anything in the world, still respected her own personal choice enough to give her space.

Their gazes held, electricity building between them as Stevie began to sing again as a result of Misty's incessant begging.

" _Back off Gold Dust Woman..."_ she began to sing, but all Molly could hear was the blood rushing in her ears.

The moment broke between them when Michael turned to leave the scene, disappearing down the hallway and out of sight. Molly returned her attention to Stevie, her teeth nibbling her lower lip impatiently. Try as she did, she couldn't focus on anything but him.

With a low sigh, she quietly stormed off after him. Molly didn't think anyone would notice, after all, there was a lead singer of a massive rock band in front of them.

She followed his trail like a dog with biscuits, eventually ending up outside. Michael must have been needing some fresh air.

She saw his blonde hair far in the distance, the sun shining brightly upon it and making it appear far lighter than usual. Molly began to quicken her pace with him in sight, his long legs allowing him to easily keep the lead.

"Hey!" She shouted to get his attention, but Michael refused to stop, even walking faster. "Off to kill another innocent, are you?!"

Her words stirred a reaction, Michael whipping around with a glare she could still see from a distance.

"I needed a walk, but here you are. No matter where I go, I just can't escape you, can I?" He bit back, remaining stationary on the spot. Molly, in turn, took a further few steps forward.

"No, because the second I let you out of my sight you do something that completely ruins everything!" Her voice rose into a shout. Molly realised she had never been as loud or annoyed as she had been since meeting him.

"Ruin _what_? Hm?"

"Ruin my image of you! Every time I forget who you are, you're quick to remind me!"

"So now I can't even go for a walk?" He called back, shaking his head in contempt. "Ever consider that I just can't stand to look at you? Knowing that if it had been you in that situation yesterday you would have just left me trapped?"

"You don't know anything about me."

"I know enough to know you'll put your precious father over yourself, and that my dear, is pathetic. You're pathetic."

His words hung over the air between them, both chests panting from unreleased anger. The urge to send him flailing like she did in her Hell came over her, but the urge to do the exact opposite won over her instead.

Feet stomping against the ground beneath, Molly closed the distance between them until they were mere inches apart. She barely had time to note the look of confusion on his face, before her eyes were closed and her lips met his.

Immediately, his hands wound around her waist, clutching her to his front. Molly answered her own question from the night before. Kissing Michael Langdon did leave a burning spark, but in a way that completely enthralled her. How strange it was, that her born enemy felt so perfect against her. How even stranger that she had never been kissed, but her body knew what to do nonetheless.

The tension between them, the invisible string, the electricity, the mourning, the pain - it had all boiled down to this single defining moment.

Molly didn't know what this meant, but all she knew for certain was that she didn't want to stop any time soon. Michael's heart hammered in his chest, full of disbelief at his own actions. But that wouldn't stop him - if kissing the Second Coming of Christ felt this good yet was so wrong, he didn't ever want to be right.

The clouds darkened above their heads, but the two didn't notice until a drop too thick to be rain landed on their noses, prompting them to break apart in confusion. Molly's eyebrows furrowed at the sight of a red line seeping down Michael's face, while he stood perplexed at an identical one on hers.

Simultaneously, their heads tilted back to look at the skies above. The sunny, clear sky had descended into a dark and cloudy abyss. But what was most shocking was the rain drops that fell from the sky, completely red and of a thick consistency.

It wasn't rain at all, Molly realised, this was a shower of blood.

Their eyes met again, Michael marvelling at the new drops of blood swirling around her face. Dotingly, he lifted his hands and rubbed his hands over her dark cheeks, smearing it slightly. The shower was a clear signal of disgrace - from both their fathers. What they were doing was abominable. But damned if either of them cared.

The blood shower rained on, while the two kissed right in the centre of it, their bodies soaked with red.

* * *

"What is it you want me to do?" Madison asked in confusion, Cordelia having signalled for the two to leave to a nearby empty room. She was missing a live performance of Stevie Nicks in person for this.

"Find out everything you can about Michael," she murmured in response, eyes darting over her shoulder. "He's dangerous, I know it."

Behold interrupted their conversation soon after, demanding to be let in on their plan to dig up dirt and threatening to tell Michael if they didn't agree to let him go.

"And Madison," Cordelia gripped her forearm, "I need you to ask them if they know anything about Molly."

"Molly?" Madison asked confusedly. "Why?"

"Because I'll be damned if those two don't know each other. Nobody descends into Hell to save someone they just met. Something happened when Molly went to California, and I need you to find out what."

* * *

 _ **Sorry for the short delay in updating this week has been hectic!**_

 _ **But yes they finally kissed, and I gotta tell ya I love my toxic excellence king and Queen**_

 _ **Thanks for reading! x**_

 _ **Sacrecrow - I've been dying for everyone to read this chapter since the start! The kiss scene is what made me start writing this book the second I got an idea for it so I hope you like it! xx**_

 _ **Izzie Nicole - Well he certainly reacted well to seeing her personal Hell muahaha, I hope you liked what happened and what's to come! x**_


	23. A River of Red

**MOLLY FIDDLED WITH THE ENDS OF HER DAMP HAIR,** still wet from the shower she just had. The blood from the peculiar bout of rain she got caught in had dried by the time they returned to the academy, causing her to have to scrub vigorously against her skin to get rid of it.

Michael and Molly were now spread out across her bed, their bodies lying in opposite directions with their heads resting beside each other. They were in the process of testing their powers, as Michael swirled a flame through the air that emanated from the tip of his finger.

The duo lay comfortably beside each other, a gap having been bridged from their moment outside. Molly wasn't sure what it meant, nor did she want to think of what the others would think. She just wanted to revel in the little kisses they shared, giggling occasionally like two teenagers hiding from parents. Molly was perfectly content with staying in their little bubble for the time being, figuring there would be plenty of time to worry about their newfound 'relationship' later.

"Is it true what they say in that bible you all like to read?" He asked suddenly, letting his hand fall to rest on his stomach. He turned his head to the side, prompting her to do the same. With mere centimetres between their faces, their breath mixing together, she couldn't stop from grinning again.

"So I've heard," she hummed, watching with burning cheeks as his eyes scanned over her features.

"Do the wine thing then, with that glass of water," he nodded towards the nightstand, a wicked smirk on his lips. "I've never been drunk."

"What, something you can't do?" She gasped dramatically, sitting up with excitement.

"Funnily enough," he chuckled, following her actions until he was leaning on one elbow, watching, "my father didn't think it would be of much use in taking over the world."

"And they call _your_ dad the fun one," she tutted, lifting the glass of water she had left on her nightstand the night before. It was something she hadn't actually attempted before, but something told her she would do it with ease.

Cupping her hands around the glass, Molly exhaled slowly and allowed her eyes to close. Her eyes flickered beneath her eyelids as she focused on the water, unable to see if it was turning or not, but relying on her instincts.

Michael sat up further, gazing interestedly at the glass. As if a drop of blood had fallen into the water, a cloud of red suddenly appeared. It expanded and expanded until, within moments, the contents of the glass were now a thick, dark red.

Opening one eye to peak, she beamed at the sight of the new liquid in her glass, raising it in greeting to Michael. Bravely, she decided to have the first sip, and lifted the rim to her lips. Carefully, Molly took a sip of the wine, expecting it to taste somewhat sweet like blackberry.

After swallowing a gulp, she lowered the glass and paused for a second before her reaction came, in the form of her expression screwing up and her mouth letting out a gag. Michael laughed at her disgust, gently taking the glass from her hand.

"Don't do it to yourself, there's something seriously wrong with humanity," Molly shook her head, eyes fixated on him as Michael ignored her warning to test it for himself.

He too, paused for a second, testing the flavours on his tongue. He then forced a tight smile, nodding to look brave.

"Delightful," Michael commented, his voice hard. Molly knew he was lying when she saw his nostrils flare while swallowing. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, pushing him to break his façade.

"Okay," he stuck his tongue out, placing the glass back down. "It's disgusting. I think your methods are off."

"My methods are _fine_. It's the wine that's the problem. If anything I made it taste better with my god-given powers," she rolled her eyes playfully.

"How dare you mention God in this sacred place?" Michael joked, reaching forward to grip onto her sides and drag her back down to lay next to him, giggling all the while.

Now laying on their sides and facing each other, they fell silent, simply taking each other in and occasionally smiling. Molly had never felt so comfortable around anyone in her life - something so incredibly ironic, for it was someone with a duty to kill her. They didn't know how to act around each other now, that much was clear. Any romantic knowledge they knew had been from movies and TV, but nothing they had previously watched ever detailed how God's daughter and Satan's son should act.

Whatever they were doing, they decided they liked it. It was bubbling between them ever since the dawn of their friendship, both too naive to really see the tension for what it was. Molly's grief over losing him should have been a telltale sign.

"I don't think I ever want to leave this room," she admitted quietly, a furrow forming between her brows that Michael wanted to reach out and ease away with his finger tips.

"Why?"

"Because the second we go out there it's all over," she explained, voice getting quieter and quieter until he could barely hear her.

"It doesn't have to be," he protested, being the one to frown this time.

"But it does," she sighed in content when he lifted his hand to trace his fingers along her cheeks. "I'll have to go back with Cordelia and you'll be here, the new Supreme."

Michael didn't answer her words, dropping his hand from Molly's face and darting his eyes away.

"I need you to promise me something," she started again, cupping his cheek to encourage him to look at her.

"Anything," Michael replied breathlessly.

"You're their Supreme now, and they're my family. You have to promise me you won't ever hurt the witches."

"Done," he swore without hesitation. "But you have to promise me you'll never abandon me again."

"Don't kill priests and I won't have to," Molly teased, shimmying forward so their bodies were fully touching and she could take comfort in the feel of him beside her.

A quick knock sounded on the door, surprising enough to make them spring apart like they were electrically shocked. Molly's wild eyes met Michael's, although the latter was fairly calm.

"Molly?" Cordelia's muffled voice met her ears, prompting her to scramble off of the bed and push Michael to follow. "Are you decent?"

"Just a second!" She called out, voice strained as she tried to get Michael to leave.

Stubbornly, he smirked widely and crossed his arms over his chest, daring her to force him.

"I'm not going anywhere," he huffed, enjoying her increasing franticness. She managed to convince him eventually, through a simple narrowing of her eyes and a glare that would end world wars.

When the room was finally empty, Molly rushed to the door to open it for the waiting former Supreme. The blonde wore a grave expression, which made Molly panic in case they had been seen.

"Have you seen the rain?" Cordelia questioned, although she wore no sign of suspicion.

"It's raining?" Molly lied through her teeth. "I must have just missed it."

"It's a shower of red, Molly," Cordelia revealed, shaking her head in abject horror. "With the thickness, consistency and metallic scent of blood. You know what this means, I'm sure."

"It's blood," Molly swallowed, doing her best to appear shocked. She never was the best liar, for obvious reasons.

"More than that, it's one of the _signs._ I never considered myself religious, but after you told me who you were... I did my research. It's right there in the book of Revelations. 'The waters will turn to blood'."

Molly remained silent, stunned by the revelation. She hadn't given much thought to the phenomenon outside, assuming it had been some kind of horrified reaction from her father to the perverse relationship she had formed with Michael.

She didn't consider that it was a warning. A warning of the apocalypse.

* * *

Madison Montgomery had about enough of this so called _Murder House_.

It's inhabitants were more stubborn than a hang nail, refusing to show their face to what they thought was simply new owners until herself and Behold forced them out of hiding. Even then, they were hesitant.

The blonde woman, who claimed to be the 'Lady of the House', had to be bribed in order to get her to talk, but that wasn't a problem. Turns out, the only thing in the world she wanted from two powerful beings was a shopping cart filled with alcohol and cigarettes.

"There were mistakes made with Tate," Constance began, flicking the end of her cigarette into the nearest ash tray. Madison almost asked her for one, but didn't want to interrupt the story now that it finally began. "But with Michael... he was like my little ray of sunshine. He was so _good._ "

Internally, the younger blonde sighed. If Cordelia had sent them all this way to find out Michael was a good kid she'd kick up a fuss. She wanted _drama, intrigue_ and most of all - scandal.

"You see," Constance continued, pausing for a second to smirk in reminiscence. She held a firm reassurance with herself that was so obvious to anyone around, something many women strived to reach. "I was born to be a mother. I believe to raise a great man is the most selfless act a woman could aspire to do. He was my destiny. Oh, such a beautiful child. Such a cheerful disposition. Even when he was committing unspeakable acts."

Madison and Behold frowned at her final words, tilting their heads as Constance calmly reached for the bottle of whiskey to refill her glass.

"What do you mean unspeakable?" He demanded.

"Well it was trivial at first, you know? Dead flies in his crib with their wings torn off," she remarked casually, as if it were a regular thing. Considering Constance's history with raising children, perhaps it was. "And then as he got older... small rodents. I had seen enough Discover Channel specials to know exactly which evolutionary tree he was shimmying up. Bundy and Dahmer started with small animals too, until they graduated."

For the first time in a while, Madison wore an expression that was truly horrified by what she was hearing, not an etch of humour anywhere to be seen. She was hoping for skeletons in his closet, but not _physical_ skeletons.

"He said they were presents because he loved me," the woman scoffed, "well I try to find a silver lining in everything. So for every rodent he killed I planted a rose bush on top. I never thought I would tire of the smell of roses."

Behold felt an overwhelming sense of pity for the woman as she continued on, explaining how deteriorated her relationship with her grandson became until she was pushed to killing herself. He never would have considered her to be a woman that would even think of such an unspeakable act, but seeing the love in her eyes while she spoke of the children she was able to stay in contact with now made her actions clearer.

Constance, for lack of a better phrase, was at peace.

"As for my grandson, I never wanted to see him again," she curled her upper lip, disgust obvious on her features. "And I didn't, until he lay bleeding to death on that carpet over there."

Madison looked incredulously at her from across the table, sparing a glance to Behold to ensure she wasn't the only one shocked by this comment.

"Bleeding to _death_?" She echoed, pressing for an elaboration.

"I was weary of that _girl_ the second she walked in," Constance exhaled deeply, extinguishing her cigarette bud into the ash tray. "But for what it was worth at the end, she got rid of the old maid and that monstrous grandson of mine. Truly a gift from God."

"Mrs Langdon," Behold straightened up, grimacing before continuing. "Michael isn't dead. He's very much alive and walking."

"Alive?" She repeated, the comfortable demeanour she wore as well as a coat for the entire discussion dropping immediately. "That's impossible, I _watched_ him die."

"What woman? Who tried to kill him?" Madison pressed, ignoring her mild panic.

"Why," she faked a laugh, "the little gift from God herself. The Second Coming. Our _saviour_." Her words were filled with sarcasm, but they did nothing to amuse Madison.

"Molly?" The blonde outright asked. Constance didn't even dignify the question with an answer, simply nodding with a tight expression. "Molly and Michael... _know_ each other?"

"Know each other?" Constance laughed, waving her hand around before downing the final contents of her glass. "Molly and Michael were good friends at one point. Even planned a little holiday. Even shared a bed once or twice, I do believe. I worried for her, thinking she'd be weak and not carry out the duty she was supposed to in killing him. And now you tell me that she didn't do it at all. I should have guessed."

Madison met eyes with Behold, agreeing on something for the first time ever - that this was absolutely scandalous. Constance soon slipped away to rejoin her daughter for 'tea-time', leaving the witch and warlock to process this information.

"I knew that Molly was like Jesus' sister or something," Madison revealed, lighting up another cigarette to come down from the shock of Constance's revelations. "So I don't think the old bat is lying."

"You let the Second Coming of Christ do the Seven Wonders?" He recoiled in disapproval.

"Oh shut up," Madison rolled her eyes, "you had the Antichrist living under your roof and you didn't even realise."

"Well, it certainly explains why he went back to save her from the Underworld," he mused, shaking his head gently. How had they missed them completely?

"And how Michael passed the test," Madison shrugged, giving Behold a rude once-over as she clambered out of the seat, "what a low blow for your coven of meninists."

"We have to tell Cordelia," Behold promptly ignored her comment, moving to follow after her.

* * *

 _ **Sorry this took so long! I was doing final assignments and exams and now I'm FREEEEE to write as much as I please.**_

 _ **So the cat is about to be out of the bag, and a new arc to Molly and Michael's characters.**_

 _ **Thanks so much for reading!**_

 _ **Sacrecrow - Ahhh I loved reading your reaction thanks so much! I can't wait to write their cute moments for the next while, so much to come I feel like the story hasn't even fully started yet!**_

 _ **Grim - Oh damn that's embarrassing about the lyrics! I'm so bad at hearing songs I hear the most random things when I listen to music sorry haha!**_

 _ **sheshe073 - we love a doomed relationship! Sorry for the delay in updating life has been hectic but regular updates once again!**_

 _ **SkippingThrough - Thank you so much! I can't wait to progress through the rest of the season, there's so much to come I feel like I haven't even truly started!**_

 _ **Izzie Nicole - thank you so much that means the world! Sorry for the delay in updating, but I hope you like what's to come!**_

 _ **Guest - Yes oh my god I love this question, Molly definitely tries to be lawful good but she's more chaotic good than anything else I think!**_

 _ **Guest - So so glad you liked this book so far! Here's an update and I hope you like what's to come! x**_


	24. Guiding Light

**"BECOMING SUPREME** feels a little pointless now," Michael hummed in thought, rousing Molly from the slumber she was readying herself to fall into. Curiously, she lifted her head up to get a view of his face, having been shielded from behind him.

It had been a week since Molly and the coven departed from Hawthorne, but that didn't mean she didn't see Michael just as much. Their contact extended beyond the boundaries of their dreams now, with Molly utilising her powerful transmutation abilities to travel across state and spend her nights and free time with him. This time she brought Michael back to Miss Robichaux's Academy, and was exhausted from the exertion of power. It was more than worth it - the young woman simply couldn't hack the recirculated air of the underground institution.

That was how they had ended up in their current predicament, cuddling up on her twin bed with Michael playing the role of little spoon. Molly liked to take every opportunity she could to poke fun at the difference between Michael Langdon and _her_ Michael. One was an extremely dangerous product of Hell - the other melted under her touch like soft butter.

"Why's that then?" She asked, her voice quiet despite the opposite end of the room left vacant. After Queenie had returned, Molly was allocated one of the shared rooms alongside Madison. Thankfully, her roommate was off gallivanting for Cordelia, and had been for over a week.

"I joined the warlocks to find my people," he furrowed his brows as he explained, turning around in her arms to face her fully. "When really I should have been trying to win back my _person_."

"Did you get that from Grey's Anatomy?" Molly snorted, breaking the tension of the moment as the two dissolved into giggles.

"It was Mead's favourite show, alright? She really had a lady boner for McDreamy," Michael shrugged innocently, causing her to clap a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughs. Just because the room was empty, didn't mean their voices wouldn't reverberate through the walls. Although many girls liked to break it, there was a rule against allowing boys to sleep over.

"Then _leave_ them," Molly urged quietly after their laughter died down, tucking a tendril of his blonde hair back from his eyes. "We could run away together, maybe we could still see Italy like we wanted to."

Michael hesitated, the Adam's apple in his throat bobbing up and down as he swallowed nervously. His reaction elicited a fallen look in her expression, which was quickly covered up after the sound of a car outside. It was far too late for visitors, unless it was for the neighbours. Still, desperate for a distraction from the conversation, Molly clambered out of bed and headed towards the window.

The girl peered out curiously at the sight of their familiar black car, a blonde head of hair exiting the backseat. With a sigh, Molly turned back around to look at Michael, who was pointedly staring away from her.

"Madison is back," she murmured, voice carrying across the room. "You should probably go."

Michael nodded stiffly, climbing out of bed and quickly redressing for Molly to take him back. Neither were sure just how the atmosphere became so tense, but what was a sweet evening had quickly become uncomfortable and insecure.

Molly had assumed her newfound relationship with Michael would cancel out his intentions for darkness. Perhaps she was mistaken.

* * *

"You're not serious," Cordelia scoffed, lips upturned in comedic ridicule as she glanced towards Zoe, Queenie and Myrtle to gauge their reactions - which were both the same. Stiff.

Madison had finally returned from California, and immediately upon arrival roused the four from bed. Molly was noticeably absent from her abrupt gathering, but based on the accusations Madison was making - it was hardly surprising.

"No," Cordelia flat out denied, shaking her head and tugging her silk robe tighter around her body. "I've raised that girl since she was _six_. She's the most purest person I know, there's no chance she'd be quite literally dealing with the devil."

When Madison revealed Michael's true nature, she was horrified - but not surprised. She knew from the beginning something dark emanated from the boy that wasn't altogether natural. But she didn't imagine it would extend this far. The fact that Michael was the Antichrist - she could buy. But the Supreme was having a hard time believing that someone as wholly good as Molly would not only lie about having killed him, but actually potentially be engaging in some form of relationship.

"I'm just relaying what the old bat said," Madison held her hands up in defence. "And it makes sense, doesn't it? Why else would he have risked it all to go down and save her from Hell? How else would he have been able to fetch me from my grave?"

"Molly was weak when she came to Hotel Cortez," Queenie voiced, looking visibly troubled by the prospect. "But Michael, he- he seemed to almost... _thrive_."

"I'm not debating that the boy is evil," Cordelia sighed, her hand cupping tiredly over her forehead as she sank down to sit at her desk. "But... I just can't get my head around how Molly, who knows what he is better than anyone, would outright lie to us about him. She put all of us in danger."

"She let him take the Seven Wonders," Zoe murmured quietly, a strong sense of betrayal encompassing her, "knowing that there was a huge chance he'd pass and put our entire coven at risk. God, it's like you think you know someone."

"Molly was broken when she returned from California," Delia admitted, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears. "I assumed it was because she had fulfilled her life's purpose so young. I never thought it could be _heartbreak_."

"So what do we do about this?" Madison interrupted impatiently, looking between all of them for an answer. "Bitch slap some sense into her?"

"Sit her down with some classic girl-power movies and tell her to move on?" Queenie suggested.

But Myrtle was apprehensive. Known for making hard decisions and being unafraid of a challenge, Myrtle Snow recognised a threat when she saw it. Rolling her eyes at the dramatics of their setting, she looked out the window to the dark street below, voicing the thoughts she had been quietly contemplating until now.

"We can't let her know that we know," she decided, meeting Cordelia's eye steadily. "If we scare her off, we run the risk of sending her right into the little devil's arms. We're a pack of hot as shit witches, but they both could wipe us out without breaking a sweat."

"Molly would never harm us," Cordelia denied vehemently, the image of Molly in her mind engraved as the sight of the innocent and lost child who had been brought to her doorstep.

"Delia, darling," Myrtle tutted with sympathy, "we never thought she'd do the things she has already done, yet here we are."

"Then what?" The blonde snapped, the betrayal she was faced with leaving her heavy-hearted. "I won't harm her, if that's what you're asking."

"I've got an idea."

* * *

"Why are we out here?" Molly dared to ask, her senses on high alert as Cordelia trailed through the woods. The Supreme had suggested to the girl upon waking that they visit one of her favourite places, leaving Molly curious.

But the manner in which Delia carried herself - avoiding her eyes, staying silent for long stretches, it worried the Second Coming enough to actually be suspicious of her mentor.

"I'm sure you've noticed my failing health, Molly," Cordelia answered after a second of pause, stepping back so they were walking alongside each other instead of leading. "No doubt a consequence of the rising Supreme."

"But-" Molly broke off, dread creeping up her spine like a crawling insect. "But it's happening too soon, you've only been Supreme for a short number of years."

 _And Michael isn't the Supreme_ , she longed to add.

"The Powers that Be have deemed the next Supreme powerful enough to stop an impending darkness," she answered cryptically, eyes set forward on the wooden walls of a cabin rising in the distance. "I've seen it coming, and if Michael is the one needed to stop this, I can die peacefully."

The words 'impending darkness' echoed around Molly's mind like a voice through an empty room. She knew who it was, of course she did. Perhaps naively, Molly had intended to use her newfound connection with the future perpetrator himself to lead him down a stray path. One where no blood had to be shed, where they could be free to live out their days amongst mortals.

"This is Misty's shack," Cordelia explained as they approached the small structure, fishing for a key from her handbag. "Swamplands are terrible for expensive shoes but I always find comfort in this little abode."

Patiently, the younger girl waited for her to open up the door with a fond smile, eyes immediately trailing to the Fleetwood Mac memorabilia and random vintage pieces laying around. Misty had chose to travel with Stevie Nicks for a time, living a life secluded from magic and filled with music. Until she felt like herself enough to cope with the traumatic experience she had just endured.

"It's cute," Molly commented, reaching into a random wooden crate that held an abundance of cassette tapes. She had never seen, much less held, one before.

"I'm glad you think so," Cordelia retorted, heels clacking against the floor. Her wording was casual, but there was an undertone of _something_ in her voice that prompted Molly to drop the tape and turn to her.

Any sense of warmth had vanished from the Supreme, now replaced with a cool detachment. If she wasn't mistaken, Molly could even see a hint of both fear and anger in her expressive eyes.

"Cordelia," Molly began, feeling hesitant upon noticing the Supreme's sudden stiffness. "What are we _really_ doing here?"

"When the Nun brought you here you were only six years old," Cordelia started, her voice as tight as her posture. "You were frightened, the sisters had accused you of being the Devil but I saw something _good_ in you. Something innocent, and pure.

"As you grew older, I didn't fail to notice how different you were from the other girls. For god's sake, you grew almost a decade overnight. You weren't one of us, and yet still I treated you as if you were. You have taken that love I had for you, and slapped me across the face with it."

"Cordelia, I don't understand-" Molly tried to plead, breathing quickening with panic. She had a fair idea of what her companion was hinting at, but her overwhelming sense of denial won her over in the end.

"I think you understand perfectly well," Cordelia cut her off, clasping her hands in front of her. It was a gesture Molly recognised she used in times of discomfort - especially when around the Warlocks. And now, it was being used with her.

"Alright," she conceded with a shaky sigh, eyes beginning to water as she approached the Supreme. A number of emotions were overwhelming Molly at that moment, but none as prominent as absolute _shame_. "I'm sorry. I know I put the coven in danger, but Delia- he's not who you think he is!"

"The _Michael_ that you know killed someone at the age of three, and that was only his first offence in a series of horrific events that seem to surround him," Cordelia spit her words with anger, taking a step toward the girl with blazing eyes. "I've seen you commit many extraordinary acts, but none have astounded me as much as you believing you'll change the spawn of the Devil. He will bring about the end times, and if you won't stop him - I will."

"There's always another way!" Molly begged, clasping her hands together under her chin. Her body was starting to shiver now, the prospect of losing _both_ her family and the man she had come to care for staring her in the eye. "We can sort this out, he wouldn't betray me!"

"You think he wouldn't betray you," she cocked a disbelieving eyebrow, before giving her a quick once-over. "Well I thought you wouldn't betray me."

"Cordelia, please, I'm _begging_ you!" As if the floodgates had opened, so did the sobs rising in her throat until they ripped through her mouth, tears rimming her eyes to accompany it. "I can't handle either of you getting hurt, you're going to end up killing each other! You can't take him!"

"I wasn't _supposed_ to," Cordelia shook her head, disappointment evident on her features as she walked around the crying girl towards the front door. "You were born to stop him, and you've failed. But even as I look at you, I still see that lost little girl I promised to protect."

There was a sadder tone to her final comment, one that only made Molly cry even harder. Images of the witches bodies laying by her feet ran through her mind like a photo reel.

"Maybe I wasn't born to kill him! Maybe I was born to stop all of this!"

"You won't be doing much of anything until it's done," Cordelia answered without hesitation, turning back around upon reaching the front door. Molly watched, horror filling her as the blonde exhaled audibly, her hands dropping from each other to extend outward.

"No!" Molly shouted, moving to cross the room toward her.

"Et oblinito ostium," Cordelia recited, eyes fluttering closed as energy surged through her body, projecting onto the surrounding area. "Mittite eam in medio."

With those final words, and a almost tangible whoosh that flooded the room with a gust of air, Cordelia stepped backward until she was out onto the decking outside. Following after, Molly had leaped at the adjacent door, only to be propelled backward as if having ran at a brick wall.

"You will stay here until it's over," Cordelia informed her, having to call out as she returned down the walkway and away from the swamp. "Perhaps you can contemplate in this time who is truly there for you."

"Don't do this, Cordelia!" Molly practically roared as she scrambled to her feet, sprinting toward the window that faced the retreating blonde's figure. "I'm warning you!"

The anger laced in her voice surprised both of the women, not something that either had ever truly heard. But then again, Molly had never _felt_ truly angry until now. The feeling of entrapment became overwhelming as she slapped her hands against the glass pane, expression twisting from anguish to fury.

A knot had tied itself from within her, somewhat loose at the beginning, but with every step Cordelia took it tightened. Tighter and tighter until taut, tied onto something Molly was unaware of. Like all things under pressure, eventually it snapped in an explosive manner.

Letting out a scream of rage, Molly released a wave of tension and energy no one could have guessed she was harbouring. The sheer power seeped into the ageing walls, splintering wood as if it were a twig and cracking windows. The roof above her head suddenly developed deep fissures, allowing the sunlight above to seep in. The raw power Molly expressed was something she had only felt once before, when she had practically torn Anton and Samantha from inside out.

Just like she had torn them apart, the shack entrapping her was combusting in on itself. Cordelia's spell crumpled like leaves beneath a foot. The groaning and creaks of the infrastructure caused her to whip around, neutral expression quickly twisting into one of horror as she watched Misty's beloved cabin burst outward, debris landing in every direction. Only one thing was left standing when the display had reached completion - Molly.

She didn't say anything as she stepped out of the rubble, shoulders and chest rising and falling quickly with her rapid breathing. The murderous look that tarred her angelic features looked entirely wrong and misplaced. Had she not been confident in her own abilities, Cordelia would have cowered in fear.

But instead of attacking the Supreme, or even verbally confronting her, Molly suddenly vanished - transmuting herself to somewhere Cordelia couldn't have even guessed.

Well, she had a fair guess.

And if she was correct in her estimation, Cordelia Goode had managed to successfully do the thing she had absolutely no intentions of doing.

* * *

Michael had been conducting rather mundane activities until a figure had quite literally appeared from nowhere, in the from of his lover crumpling onto the floor of his bedroom. Abandoning the sketches he had been drawing, Michael worriedly shot forward to gather her in his arms, checking her visually for any sign of injury.

Molly held a thin sheen of sweat to her skin, the display of power she had provided wiping out all of her stored energy. But the thoughts raging through her mind were so much more profound than the energy she had just previously exerted.

Molly had faced rejection her entire life, and it was only now that it pierced through her like a blade. The mother that had abandoned her on the doorstep of the convent, the nuns who had been frightened of her and shunned her, the witches who had treated her different. Through all the torture, Cordelia had been a shining light. Never looking toward her with disgust, until now.

It felt natural for Molly to gravitate towards Michael in that moment, warm arms encircling her body and cradling her gently. He had never once looked at her in disgust or disappointment, and he didn't now. Molly clung to the warmth in his eyes, the worried flash on his face and the grip of his hands on her body.

Despite how dark Cordelia thought Michael to be, he was now proving to be the only light remaining in her life.

* * *

 _ **I'm loving writing Molly at the minute, it's so much more difficult to write her as someone who's all good and holy, and I think it's only natural after everything she's showing her flaws just like Michael shows his good side.**_

 _ **Thanks so much for reading! If anyone is interested, I now have a Spotify account under the username gameofboners for my fics. There's a playlist dedicated to Molly and Michael, and another one solely for Molly.**_

 _ **Sacrecrow - Thank you so much! Molly and Michael are still so cute and naive after everything their scenes are my favourite to write. There's so much more of them coming up!**_

 _ **BaeMinChan - I loved reading your review! Thank you so much, it means the world that you like the book and their relationship. I hope you like this chapter and your English is perfect!**_


	25. All That Matters

**"SHE'LL DIE FOR THIS,"** Michael announced, shooting up from the edge of the bed where he had been originally seated. Furious was an understatement, he was positively _seething_ with rage. The dark magic flooding through his veins practically begged to be released, and to be released onto one individual in particular.

When Michael found out that the Supreme had tried to imprison Molly upon discovery of their bond, it was like something had snapped within him. Seeing her broken and shaking on his bedroom floor would be an image permanently engraved on his mind. One he would now perpetually associate with Cordelia.

The couple were still in fairly early stages of a relationship - if one would even call it that. But his protectiveness over the young Second Coming developed long before they had shared a kiss, and was only increasing with every moment they spent together. He had promised her previously no harm would come to the witches - and despite his abhorrence of them, had agreed to it without reservations out of respect for Molly's love of them.

But surely this was enough to break any and all vows.

"Stop, please," she begged, head snapping up to stare at him with round, watering eyes that only infuriated him further. Molly was one of the strongest people he knew, and this betrayal had cut her deep - reducing her to a crying, shaking shadow of herself. Her eyes, which were his favourite thing about her purely for their inability to hide her innermost feelings, were troubled and lined with a slick layer of unshed tears.

Crouching down in front of her and resting on one knee, Michael cupped his hands around her cheeks, forcing her to meet his gaze head on. The Antichrist slipped his hands back, sliding his fingers into curly hair and gripping her head with a passionate ferocity.

"They tried to keep you from me, Molly," Michael tried to reason, eyes trailing across her angelic features. "She tried to _imprison_ you - betrayed your trust as if you weren't one of her own."

"I'll never be one of them," she confessed in a meek voice, lower lip quivering ever so slightly. "As much as I try, I'll always be different."

"Listen to me-" Michael began, a sharp rapture of knocks on his door interrupting what he was about to say. His eyes lifting in an eye roll, he didn't dare tear his gaze away from her as he called out in a hard voice, " _fuck off_!"

Amused by his vulgarity, she gently cupped a hand over her mouth to quiet the lowest of giggles she couldn't help but give. Thankful to see her spirits lift, even a fraction, the corners of his lips quirked proudly.

"You don't need them, Molly," he lowered his voice to a murmur, conscious of potentially listening ears. "You never have. Just as I don't need the warlocks. All we need is each other."

"But what about-" she broke off, gesturing between the two with her hands and pointing out the obvious elephant in the room, "what about... _everything_?"

"It doesn't matter any more," he refuted, leaning in until their foreheads touched and their breathing mingled. "We're all that matters. Say the word, and we'll leave this place."

A little of the light she usually emanated seemed to return to her expression at his words, her troubles seemingly soothed somewhat by the prospects Michael was offering. An escape from the witches, an escape from the warlocks. They could leave everything behind and just simply be Michael and Molly. Or at least, that's what she took from his words.

"I want that," she breathed out, her own hands reaching up to clutch onto his shirt as ferociously as he held onto her. "I really want that. But not tonight, I just want to sleep tonight."

"Whatever you want is yours, Molly," he whispered, pressing his lips against her forehead in a tender kiss that greatly contrasted the possessive way in which he held her. Slipping his hands from her hair, he followed her as she slid backward onto his bed with the intentions of going to sleep.

As soon as they were horizontal, Michael curled into Molly's spine - bodies moulding together like a perfect fit as he slid his hand around her waist to keep her in place. He buried his nose into her hair, deeply inhaling her intoxicating scent of vanilla. Molly relaxed against his back, revelling in the sense of protection she felt from his touch. Despite everything, she knew that he would keep her safe. And that was enough to lull her into a content and comfortable sleep.

But while she dozed off, Michael's eyes were fixed on the wall ahead. He wasn't prepared to sleep any time soon - his mind slowly submerging into dark thoughts that all ended in a single conclusion; he'd kill them all for her, if she asked.

* * *

Escaping the Warlocks would take more time than one thought, Molly had come to realise. As much as she abhorred the dark eeriness of Hawthorne Academy - she couldn't just up and leave it at any moment to move somewhere new with Michael. Technically, they could - although their methods would be entirely illegal and Molly wasn't prepared to allow Michael to steal money for a place for them both. She wanted to earn it, like most mundanes did.

Michael detested the idea, but she calmly reminded him that she was already royally pissing off her father by dating him - she couldn't add fuel to the fire and start abusing her powers for thieving.

Thus, he suggested they return to Mead's house for a short while. The Satanist would be more than happy to have him back in her life, so much so that she wouldn't dare touch a hair on Molly's head. At first, she had absolutely rejected the notion with an incredulous gaze. Miriam would chop her into tiny pieces and cook her in a stew any day, but she had little other choice at this point. It was either live with a murderous Satanist, or have to stay confined to Michael's room lest one of the Warlocks discover her residing there.

She didn't like it, not one bit. But Mead didn't seem to mind as long as she could have her 'beautiful, golden haired boy' back in her arms. It was rather strange returning to the neighbourhood, and Molly had intended to drop by and visit Violet as soon as she could. Between Michael and Violet, she didn't think there was any one else in the world she trusted more at that moment in time.

Her phone buzzed unrelentingly in her jacket pocket as she walked the streets, disrupting the reminiscing she was in the midst of. Admittedly, aside from Michael's near death experience - living at the Murder House held a lot of positive memories for her. But she didn't know whether to attribute that to her friendship with Michael and Violet, or her time there having been her first taste of independence from guardians.

Molly had been ignoring her phone all week, knowing well that there was only one person that had any need to call her. Growing tired of the incessant buzzing, she whipped it out of her pocket with enough force to nearly crack the screen.

Zoe was obviously the one assigned to call her without stopping that day, where the day before had been Queenie and the two days before that it was Cordelia herself. She wouldn't be surprised if even Madison decided to jump in and hit her up.

Flicking her phone onto airplane mode to stop any incoming calls, she shoved it back into her jacket and continued on her trek - newfound tenseness to her shoulders.

It wasn't long before the infamous Murder House loomed menacingly before her, leaving Molly somewhat nervous as she pushed open the creaking gate. She was fully aware Madison had probably told the Murder House occupants that Michael wasn't dead, and only hoped she wouldn't be cornered by someone like Constance out of fury.

Molly was pleasantly surprised, however, when the second she telepathically unlocked the door a smaller figure practically leaped on top of her, engulfing her in a welcoming hug. She didn't have to see the girl's face to know it was Violet - the warmth in her touch leaving her feeling whole. She had genuinely missed her friend from beyond the grave, and if Violet had felt the same, it was likely ten times worse for her. After all, Molly had the coven and Michael to distract her from their separation for all this time. The Harmon daughter had nothing.

"I saw you coming up the path, you have no idea how happy I am to see you!" Violet gushed in a single breath, squeezing the Second Coming tight enough for even her to wince.

"I'm back in the neighbourhood, I couldn't help but drop by and see Caspar the Friendly Ghost," she chuckled against the girl's shoulder, beaming when Violet excitedly let go of her to see her face again. The blonde's grin began to dim as a thought struck her, leaving her somewhat guilty in appearance.

"Those witches came by and spoke to everyone," she admitted, awkwardly grimacing and fiddling with her hands. "I didn't say anything to them, I swear. But I think Constance mentioned you. I wanted so badly to warn you but I don't have a charged cell phone any more seeing as the realtor cut off the power."

"It's alright," Molly reassured, her smile never wavering. She never suspected Violet to be the one who ratted her out, anyway.

"So what's going on in the real world?" Violet prompted, the duo moving to sit on the bottom step of the staircase. Molly smiled amusedly at the question, raising her eyebrows as she thought of the soap opera her life had truly become.

* * *

It was dark when Molly decided to leave for Mead's house - a setting that would give any girl pause. But Molly guessed that her defensive abilities were a little more powerful than a simple pepper spray or rape whistle. She pitied anyone who attempted to approach her with ill intentions, for he would be rather quickly cast aside and out of her path.

Lost in thought, Molly strolled down the path leisurely. She knew that it would probably break some sort of invisible rule imposed against her, but she began to ponder if there was any way at all she could resurrect Violet. Her body was surely far too decayed by now to even consider approaching, but she was the daughter of _God_ himself.

A short cry caused her to pause mid-step, sounding out from the alleyway up ahead. _Of course,_ she thought, _it's always an alleyway_.

Out of concern, she surged forward towards the entrance of the alley, immediately scanning the area ahead for any signs of distress. Sure enough as suspected a man had unlawfully propped a crying woman against the wall, a gun poised in his hand as he obviously attempted to take something from her. Whether it was money, or something far more sinister.

"Let go of her," Molly called out, voice frighteningly calm as she stepped toward the scuffle with a blank expression. "Now."

The man's head snapped toward her, eyes widened with fright as he realised he had been caught in the act. Shakily, he stumbled backward, redirecting his attentions, or more specifically his aim, to the newcomer. Even from a short distance away, Molly didn't miss the shake in his hand as he held the weapon.

The innocent woman flattened herself against the wall, staring between the two with a horrified look in her eye. Meeting her gaze, Molly tried to slyly gesture for her to make an escape. But instead, and somewhat admirably, the woman stayed and straightened up.

The stranger could have abandoned her, use Molly to escape from the man and not worry about being attacked further that night, even at the expense of another woman. But alas, she was unaware that her rescuer was no ordinary woman, and stood defiantly with the intentions of joining her in taking him down together. Two against one.

"I'll put a bullet in you!" He threatened, pointing the gun again at Molly as if to emphasise his point. Instead of recoiling in fright, Molly simply took another step forward - her gaze now fixated on him and him only.

She soon paused in her stride, a stoic element to her expression and a narrowing to her eyes that somewhat frightened him. Molly looked determined, leaving him wondering if there was someone behind him about to arrest him. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder and confirming that the woman truly thought herself invincible against a loaded gun, he spat another threat.

"Did you hear me, you stupid slut?! I'll put a bullet right between your eyes!"

"Or maybe I'll put one between yours," she retaliated, tilting her head ever so slightly. The attacker hardly noticed at first, too focused on the woman to make sure she wasn't about to whip out a weapon, that he didn't see his gun was moving on its own accord.

Now looking down in horror, he began to shake violently as his hand uncontrollably started to turn in on itself and aim the gun at his own skull instead of hers. Terrified, he glanced back toward the woman opposite him to see she was still wearing that same expression. Completely unaffected.

Tilting her head up, Molly's slight action simultaneously slid his finger over the trigger and pressed it hard - sending a bullet straight between his eyes and killing him instantly. The other woman in the alley screamed out in horror, backing away from the carcass that had tipped lifelessly back against the ground.

Molly furrowed her eyebrows when the connection between his mind and hers suddenly severed, leaving her to analyse how she was feeling about having killed someone without hesitation.

 _He was vile_ , she tried to convince herself. _He was probably going to rape or murder this innocent woman._

Perhaps what struck Molly most was not whether or not she felt he deserved to die - but that she had killed him so easily. Even now, with the echoes of his victim's cries in her ears as Molly stumbled backward out of the alley - she didn't feel a thing. The old Molly would have reprimanded him and turned him in to a police station.

But that was the old Molly.

* * *

"Molly," Mead's voice called out from the kitchen, the speaker herself appearing in the hallway with a grin so forced it could have split her cheeks in two. "You're home."

"You don't need to act," Molly rolled her eyes, trailing through the house and consciously searching for Michael. "I hate you as much as you hate me."

" _Hate_?" Mead echoed sarcastically, waving a hand before turning back into the kitchen and making a beeline for the oven. "Sure we're practically family! I even kept you some of my pot roast from dinner!"

Molly followed after her curiously, keeping a safe enough distance in case the Satanist decided to suddenly whip around with a weapon. Sure enough, she bent down and retrieved a plate from the oven - using the appliance to keep it warm for longer.

"Is it poisoned?" Molly demanded. It wouldn't kill her even if it was, but she didn't fancy spending the night dying only to make a recovery in the early hours of the next morning.

"You have little faith in me," Mead rolled her eyes playfully, fetching for a fork in the drawer and presenting both the plate and cutlery toward her. Her attitude was so obviously fake, but Molly didn't know if she was genuinely trying to trick her, or whether Michael has told her to play nice and she was exaggerating.

"I think I'll take it to Michael's room," Molly quirked an eyebrow, watching intently for a reaction, "and let _him_ try a couple of bites first."

The older woman didn't give a reaction, perhaps she was simply playing with Molly's mind to make her paranoid. Stepping down the short hallway, she nudged open the door to Michael's bedroom to find him there - sprawled across the bed and watching television with furrowed brows.

"Hey you," she greeted, a warm sensation flooding her chest at the sight of him. His head turned from the news channel in front of him toward the girl in the doorway, sitting up to greet her.

Michael looked leagues younger at that moment than he did at Hawthorne - having swapped his suits for a comfortable pair of pyjamas and leaving his hair in its natural wavy state instead of styled.

"You thought she poisoned the pot roast, didn't you?" He guessed in amusement, eyes following her as she nudged off her shoes and climbed onto the bed next to him - settling the plate on top of her crossed legs.

"It wouldn't be the first time she's plotted to kill me," Molly pointed out with a smirk, bringing a bite up to her mouth once she sensed it was probably safe to eat. "Why are you watching the news?"

"There's so much suffering in the world," he explained, redirecting his attention to the box across the room. "I want to know about _all_ of it."

Molly swallowed thickly, feeling somewhat nauseous as violent images of blood and war displayed across the pixelated screen. It only served as a reminder she could be helping stop it. _Should_ be stopping it.

"Something happened on the walk home," she admitted, setting the plate aside to face him. Molly had struggled with the decision on whether or not to tell him, but ultimately she was dying to let it out. Although he would probably approve of it, even though she knew in her heart what she did wasn't right.

And that's exactly what Michael did as she relayed the story, fighting down the urge to smirk as he saw the lack of remorse in her expression. Molly's innocence was dissipating with each passing day, the more she realised the world didn't deserve someone as good as her in it.

And he loved it.

* * *

 _ **I've decided to exclude Tate and Violet reuniting from this book. If people want to imagine it still happened that's okay but I personally don't think he should have a redemption arc. Sorry bout it!**_

 _ **Sacrecrow - Hahahaha me too I love writing Molly's descent into becoming less and less innocent the longer she's around Michael! A character being wholly good doesn't appeal to me, like take Mallory for example. Badass as she is, I would have cared a lot more about her if she had some form of development as character and wasn't just completely good! Thanks so much for your kind words! x**_

 _ **Izzie Nicole - Thank you so much ahh! It's a compliment to me that you think Molly is a multifaceted character because I know some people are probably put off by the fact she's Christ and think she's just a complete do-gooder when she's as layered an onion. I hope you like this chapter too!**_

 _ **Grim - Angry Molly is my favourite Molly too! You'll surely get to see more of it ; )**_

 _ **VampireSiren - Cordelia done FUCKED UP, I can't give too much away for what happens but Molly isn't going to forget that easily! I hope you like this chapter and what's to come! x**_

 _ **Guest - I was wondering on whether or not to include Madison and Violet because I think that's an interesting combination but I didn't know what else they could have talked about when I wasn't having Violet return to Tate, plus I knew Violet was coming back this soon so I thought it would be okay to wait for her to reappear!**_


	26. Cleanse By Fire

**"YOU'RE NOT ROBBING A BANK, MICHAEL,"** Molly rolled her eyes in exasperation, flopping frustratedly back onto the bed beneath her.

"Well you're the one that wants to leave so badly, unless your father gave you the ability to grow money what else do you suggest?" He fired back, raising his eyebrows intelligently as he leaned against the door to their bedroom. Michael had heard all about the rivalry between Molly and his foster mother, like a pot that had been steadily boiling until it's contents were about to bubble over the edge.

It wasn't rocket science - Molly was uncomfortable living with the Satanist, despite Michael's promises that she was safe. She didn't underestimate her own abilities if it came to fighting Mead off, but she imagined there were dozens of other things she could do to get back at her for simply existing.

The girl's paranoia was only growing by the day - particularly after watching a TV viewing of Mel Gibson's _The Passion of Christ._ Michael had found her horror watching it rather amusing, but Molly was far from entertained. If her predecessor was so easily taken down by trusting the wrong person, who's to say she wouldn't be as equally betrayed. She didn't dare to think that there was a possibility her father hadn't completely abandoned her for starting an illicit relationship with the enemy.

"You don't know what it's like living with that woman when she hates you," Molly shook her head, leaning up onto her elbows and narrowing her eyes. "Haven't you noticed a 50% increase in upside down crucifixes around the house? Just the other day she lifted one to me and said, 'it's insane how this was all it took to take down the one before you. I wonder what'll end up stopping you, a wooden spoon maybe?' And then started laughing _maniacally._ "

"She's only messing with you," Michael tried to comfort her, although he was struggling to keep his amusement from showing on his face. "It's not like she'd actually attempt to kill you."

"She took out all the marshmallows from my box of Lucky Charms," Molly deadpanned with a raise of an eyebrow, "the woman's a psychopath."

At this, Michael couldn't withhold his laughter any longer - especially given the serious expression Molly had adopted. He didn't doubt his stand-in mother was spending all her energy harassing and frightening the Second-Coming, but he knew it was perfectly harmless. Mead knew better after the first time than to cross him again.

"What's our plan, anyway?" She prompted suddenly, somewhat hesitant. When his head tilted in confusion, she elaborated. "We've been avoiding the elephant in the room for days now. Don't you think we should talk about... this? Whatever _this_ is? Am I supposed to call you my boyfriend?"

"Don't you think the terms 'boyfriend and girlfriend' are a little trivial for the two most powerful beings in the world?" The corners of his lips rose in a smirk at his own words, crossing the room as she sat up and placing his hands on the bed on either side of her hips, his face inches from her own. Her breath hitched from the intensity he was looking at her with - as if he could see straight through her dark toned skin and into her mind.

It was remarkable how much the two had changed since first meeting. Where initially, they were like children in the bodies of adults, Molly and Michael were now more mature than most people in their twenties. They held a knowledge of the world that extended beyond the norm, having been matured by their experiences even over the short span of eleven months. With that maturity, came an attraction to each other that could only be described as absolutely primal. Weeks and months of hatred and fighting had exploded into a passionate cloud of lust and attachment, that both confused and maddened them.

When they had been 'friends' near the beginning, Molly never saw Michael in a sexual light, having been shrouded with naivety and a childlike innocence. Now, the woman wondered if she'd be able to continue resisting him for much longer. It wasn't that she didn't constantly wonder what it would feel like to commit the most sacred of acts with him, but if the skies had bled the first time they _kissed,_ Molly was sure they'd split open if they consummated their relationship.

"Well, the most powerful being and the little demon spawn who follows after her," she teasingly replied, tilting her head back when his face began to inch closer.

"You're mine," he spoke in a calm yet darker voice, "how's that for a definition?"

"I don't belong to anyone," Molly refuted stubbornly, although she couldn't deny the swirl of lust in her belly at his words as her hands swiftly lifted to twist her fingers through his blonde hair, which had now inched past his ears. With a whisper of a breath, Michael leaned in until his mouth delicately brushed over hers, tickling her plump lips. Teasingly, he refrained from settling his mouth on hers, their breaths intermingling and the tension rapidly beginning to rise between them.

The door suddenly flying open left them both freezing in place, Michael then proceeding to close his eyes in frustration before turning to look at the woman who had interrupted their moment - as if she telepathically knew it was happening.

"Hello dears," Mead greeted cheerily, not at all phased by the position she had found them in. "I'm just heading to the supermarket, is there anything I can get either of you? Perhaps some shaving razors, Molly?"

"No thanks, _Miriam_ ," Molly grunted in reply at the snide comment, forcing a smile that was almost as fake as the elder womans. Expectantly, she then looked towards Michael for an answer.

"I'm fine," he shook his head, staring at Mead pointedly until she turned to leave, as slow as she possibly could.

"Maybe some condoms, hm?" She called out before the door finally shut, "I wouldn't want a half-breed baby running around, I might have to make a stew out of it!"

When she had finally disappeared from sight, Molly crossed her arms over her chest and cocked a sarcastic brow at her partner. Michael simply rolled his eyes at her stance, the mood having been completely ruined.

"I told you we're moving out."

* * *

"Why are we here?" Molly called out to her partner, anxiously fidgeting with her hands before eventually shoving them into the pockets of her coat. Her eyes nervously trailed around the familiar alleyway, wondering why Michael had brought her here of all places.

The Second-Coming hadn't told him about her brush with the gunman several days beforehand. Not because she thought he would judge her, but because she knew he would be _supportive_. Michael would have grinned with glee upon hearing the tale, and the manner in which Molly had so mercilessly murdered someone without hesitation. He would revel in it, use it as proof to show her that she wasn't the angel she was meant to be and that a darkness existed within her as it did him.

Michael had departed from her side and took a couple of steps forward, tilting his head as he regarded upon the blood stain that had dried into the stone beneath. The body had obviously been found and removed days before, with authorities crediting it as a successful suicide attempt - which was the only part of the media frenzy around him Molly had paid any attention to. She didn't want to know any theories the public had, or if the only eyewitness had decided to tell the world the truth.

"I saw on the news about the man who had killed himself in this alley," he mused, crouching down as if the stain would suddenly tell him something more. "Well, they called it a suicide. But they had another woman in custody before that. 'Mad' they called her, said she was rambling on about how another woman had forced him to do it. They let her go eventually when they learned his fingerprints were the only ones on the gun and the coroner agreed that the angle made it a self-inflicted wound."

"So? Are you obsessed with death scenes or what?" Molly prompted, swallowing nervously. The woman had told after all - even if the world didn't believe her. There was one group of people that would though; witches who knew about the power of concilium. More specifically, Cordelia's coven.

"I just have a feeling about this one in particular," he shrugged innocently, casting a knowing glance at her over his shoulder. His eyes suddenly moved to look at something directly behind her, eyebrows furrowing at the sight. Curious, and desperate to escape his gaze, Molly followed his eye-line and gasped when the image of a man swiping an old's woman purse met her. He darted across the street with it, towards the two of them, funnily enough. Her nostrils flared with frustration when she heard the helpless cries of the elderly woman, anger filling her enough to nod her head and send out a gust of energy that knocked the robber flat onto his back.

With her boots clacking against the ground, Molly approached the incapacitated stranger as he tried to catch his breath after the wind was knocked out of him. Lifting the toe of her boot, she dragged the bag away from his hand with the intentions of returning it to the lady.

"I-I-" he stammered, looking around wildly as if in a daze. "I don't know why I did that, I would never have done that to someone, I swear!"

Molly frowned at his words before the cool sensation of realisation fell over her like a blanket. Slowly, she turned to look at the Antichrist who hadn't moved an inch from his original position to assist. Only now, he was smirking wickedly.

"You did that!" she accused furiously after marching back to him, pointing her finger at his chest.

"And you killed that man a few nights ago," he replied coolly, not at all phased by her mood change. "Concilium is a truly special gift."

"If you knew I did it, then why did you just practically possess that man?" She gave him a shove, barely moving him an inch. At this, Michael's expression twisted in confusion, as if the reasoning was completely obvious.

"To prove a point," he argued. "If you were truly as _good_ as you claim, you wouldn't have hurt either of those men. You would have stopped them, handed them into the police with a slap on the wrist. You killed someone when you didn't need to. You're a murderer, just like I am."

"I'm nothing like you," she recoiled and shook her head in horror, eyes widening as she stumbled back a step. The wave of guilt and regret she had anticipated ever since the incident was finally reaching her, only after Michael approved of it.

"Yes, you are," he retorted, reaching forward and gripping her cheeks to stop her from moving back again. "We're the same, you and I. And now that you've finally realised, maybe we can change this world. Together."

"A week ago you wanted to destroy everything," Molly swallowed thickly, keeping her eyes fixated on his as brown met blue in a fiery stand off. "And now you want to help it?"

Michael chose not to answer, knowing if he told the truth it would only dissuade her. The truth was that he could give a damn if the world burned to a crisp or lived, but by encouraging Molly to do what she thought would be the right thing in stopping those committing evil acts, he would be dragging her towards a darker path before she even realised it.

Michael liked to think he had a talent for sensing the morality of others. There was a darkness in Molly that intrigued him to no end - he'd have given up all his powers to tap into that side of her and push her to unleash it upon this cruel and pathetic world.

She was never going to allow him to bring about the apocalypse. But perhaps Michael could push _her_ into being the Harbinger of the end times instead. If he had successfully managed to corrupt Molly, God would lose his last grip on keeping the world sacred and holy. Chaos would win, it would take over. And the only ones left standing would be himself and the beauty before his eyes.

"Say what you want about Hell, but the ones who we drag down to it are evil at the core," he grinned brilliantly, resting his forehead against hers. "You're ridding the world of evil, and giving my father more people to play with. Plus, I think I've come to develop a kink for when you get angry. It happens so little."

"You're not going to get me to do your bidding Michael," she responded knowingly, surprising him. Molly was more switched on than he could have ever guessed. Once again, he chose not to reply. Simply resting his arm around her shoulder and leading her back to Mead's house.

He didn't need to force her to do anything, Molly was already doing exactly what he wanted.

* * *

"Mead?" Michael called out in wonder, curious about the woman's whereabouts. He hadn't seen her since she had spontaneously bust in on their room the day before, but he knew better than to worry. Knowing Mead - she was either at some form of a Satanic convention or killing somebody.

"Will you just turn it off already?" Michael sighed as Molly's phone began to buzz once again. The damned witches had been incessant for the past few hours, calling her relentlessly every few minutes. The woman never once replied, but he noticed she didn't exactly turn off her phone or block them either. Perhaps she hadn't severed their connection as much as he had thought.

This time the vibrations were cut after a single second, causing the duo to look at each other with confusion. Molly slid her phone out of her pocket in curiosity, raising her eyebrows at the sight of a text message notification instead of a missed call.

Swiping it open, she glanced toward Michael with suspicious eyes.

"What?" He questioned, walking towards her as if prompted to. Molly angled her phone screen towards him, his eyebrows furrowing as he read the words twice to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

 _ **ANSWER THE PHONE, AND GIVE IT TO MICHAEL.**_

The phone, sure enough, began to ring again. Cordelia's number displayed on the screen as Michael barely wasted a second before ripping it from Molly's fingers, answering it and holding it to his ear expectantly. The woman by his side chewed her fingernails nervously, wondering how Cordelia had known they were together and what she could have possibly wanted with him.

"What?" He greeted rudely, jumping straight to the point. Sensing Molly's burning eyes on the side of his face, he huffed before lifting the phone from his ear and tapping the loudspeaker option.

"You think death is a punishment?" A voice shouted in the distance, only audible because of its volume. Michael's expression morphed into one of shock immediately upon recognition.

"Is that-" Molly cut herself off just as the voice spoke again, furthering her theory that the person speaking was in fact the lady of the house who had been tormenting her for days.

"I do not fear the fire!" she continued to roar. "It _cleanses_ me, as it will cleanse this world! I've seen the end, I bear witness to the darkness! Father, take me in your arms, your kingdom is nigh!"

Her words were followed by a series of cackles from the woman herself, and a distinct crackling reminiscent of a fire. Michael's expression had slipped from one of shock to one of absolute fury - nostrils flared, eyes barely blinking and jawline set.

"That is the fate that lies in store for you and all those that follow you," Cordelia's voice followed coolly. Realisation began to settle in Molly's brain about what they had listened to as the phone clicked to signal the end of the call - Mead had been burned at the stake, obviously amongst others. Swallowing thickly, and somewhat unnerved by the dangerous look in Michael's eyes, Molly began to step backward from the scene and prepare for an outburst.

"Take me to where that is," he finally spoke, voice eerily calm. Molly shook her head in refusal, aware that if the witches were still there by the time she had transmuted him then a bloodbath would follow.

"No," Molly rejected him, her throat tight with the tension.

"Molly," he turned to her, a warning in his face, "take me there. Now." When she shook her head again, he reacted by letting out a roar of frustration before telekinetically flinging the couch next to them across the room. She simply raised an eyebrow, not at all phased by the display of power. If Michael wanted to fight her, she'd give him a fight.

The room was silent for a moment as he took a couple of breaths, calming himself down. The next movement came in him walking out of the room and towards the front door.

"Fine," he grunted in annoyance, swinging open the door with a flick of his fingers. "I'll find them myself."

Running her hands over her face, Molly sighed in contemplation. But eventually, the ideas that ran through her mind of what Michael could end up doing won her over, and she resigned to following after him.

The woman wasn't entirely sure if she had minded that Mead had been burned. Cordelia only did such things in the case of when another witch or warlock had been grievously harmed or murdered. She found herself hoping that Mead hadn't done anything to the witches - despite their betrayal, they had been the only family she knew.

Molly wasn't going to assist him in finding the area the coven used to burn others at the stake, but she wasn't going to wait at home while he went on a rampage either.

* * *

 _ **Thanks so much for reading!**_

 _ **VampireSiren - Ahhh thank you so much! I think the concept is off putting to some people who don't want to read this book when the see the OC is like basically another Jesus but Molly's such a complex character she's not at all like her predecessor! Well God may be pissed but the Dark Lord might not be too angry when he sees how dark Molly is becoming ; ) thanks for reading!**_

 _ **Sacrecrow - The idea of Molly and Mead together is so bloody funny like even the part i wrote about her taking Molly's marshmallows from her cereal had me dying hahaha, I think Satan himself might not mind the union so much if Michael manages to successfully drag her ass to the dark side! I'm so so happy you like the book thank you so much! I hope you like this chapter too! xx**_

 _ **sheshe073 - I love Molly and Violet too they're so precious! If I had it my way Michael and Molly would get a cabin in the woods and have babies but unfortunately the canon has to get in the way! So so happy you liked the last chapter thanks so much for reviewing! xx**_

 _ **New World Order - Go hard or go home is exactly right ;) ! Steam is definitely coming, but I have the idea in my mind for when I want the two to fully... AHEM, which I can't wait to write! Thanks for commenting!**_

 _ **Grim - I would LOVE to hear any recommendations for Molly's playlist! I added a couple more songs but I'm always searching for more so send them my way!**_

 _ **Guest - people would probably get angry if I did it but if I had it my way Molly would kick Tate's ass all the way to hell tbh!**_


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